


In Pursuit of Happiness

by theother51



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Friends to Lovers, High School Teacher AU!, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, In that they literally all work at the same high school, M/M, lots of pining, well not the democratic-republicans; they work at a different high school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 70,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6376669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theother51/pseuds/theother51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Squabble (v.) - to quarrel noisily over a trivial matter.<br/>"Alexander and John squabbled over who should get the last box of Cool Markers in the store."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Squabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squabble (v.) - to quarrel noisily over a trivial matter.  
> "Alexander and John squabbled about who should get the last box of Cool Teacher markers."

His rapid climb to Actual Real Full-Time Teacher from College Graduate Scraping By As A Teacher's Assistant had been fueled by coffee and unexpected turmoil in the school system. He's here almost before he realizes it, poised a day before school starts with his first real career ahead of him. And while he knows mid-twenties is early to be teaching at a high school full-time - like, really early - he feels confident in his abilities. Alexander Hamilton knows how to get a point across. He knows how to hold a room's attention. He knows how to facilitate discussion.

He's ready.

Or at least he will be if he can find some decent goddamn whiteboard markers.

For the past week and a half he's been setting up his classroom, decorating the walls with posters and famous quotes and a "No Fear Shakespeare" joke poster - like just about every English teacher in America, he's not a big fan of the series. He imagines his students will be perplexed when they walk into English class and see the words _fear Shakespeare_ staring back at them in bold text. He's certain he'll get a chuckle out of that one.

On top of all the decorating, he's stocked his room with paper, extra pens and pencils, hundreds of eraser caps, band-aids, tissues, and everything else he thinks he might need. Alex is pretty sure it'll all be gone in a week, but hey! He's prepared for the moment. He's spent most of this week's food money on making his room the best goddamn English classroom in the world. And currently it's missing whiteboard markers, which is why he's in a deserted Staples twenty minutes before it closes trying to find something suitable.

In Aisle Six, he stumbles upon one lonely package of neon dry-erase markers, with chunky tips and bright colors. He grins and makes a grab for them.

And promptly bumps into someone he hadn't noticed standing right there.

The first thing Alexander notices is that despite the carpeting, the floor of this Staples is hard. It hurts when you get knocked on your ass bumping into a stranger. The second thing he notices is that the stranger is also wincing in pain, probably going through the exact same thought process as Alex.

The third thing he notices, and, it could be argued, the most important, is the freckles. 

They're only discernible after a second of scrutiny, but once Alex sees them, it becomes obvious that this guy is more freckle than face. He's got to take a second to pause even as he pulls himself off of the uncomfortable Staples floor, because he's always found freckles to be adorable. He's dated a disproportionate number of redheads. He can hardly say he's surprised at himself when the thought pops into his head that  _hey, this guy's cute._

Admiration turns to annoyance the second he sees that the neon markers - his neon markers - have suddenly ended up in Cute Stranger's basket.

He'd be politer about pointing this out on any other occasion, but they just did the "this store will be closing in fifteen minutes" announcement and he's not content to be some boring teacher with boring whiteboard markers.

So instead of approaching the situation with any sort of normal-person tact, he just points at the markers and says "I was gonna buy those."

 

John Laurens isn't sure whether the handsome stranger just got more or less attractive by pointing out the obvious. On the one hand,  _duh_ , John knows he was going to buy those markers - he'd like to give them to the stranger, too, but he really needs them. But on the other hand, it is late evening in the middle of a deserted Staples, so the stating-the-obvious thing is forgivable, and maybe even kind of cute.

Maybe even really cute.

Still, he can't let that sway him. He needs whiteboard markers, and the plain kind just aren't gonna cut it. After all, he's planning on being the cool teacher. Cool teachers have cool markers. Ergo, these are his now.

"Sorry," he tells the handsome stranger. "But I really need these."

"Those specific colors?" asks the guy, and the hope in his voice that John will say no is evident.

"These specific colors," John affirms.

"Well that's unfortunate, because I also really need those markers," the stranger retorts.

John shifts his basket to his hip and takes a long look at this guy. He's wearing a black t-shirt, white line drawing of some angry grapes printed on the front ( _The Grapes of Wrath,_ ha-ha). Old jeans. New dress shoes. Hair pulled back in a ponytail. He's got an incomplete tattoo sleeve running up his right arm - it looks more like a tattoo glove, given that it stops just above his elbow. John's never seen that before, and it's a weird look made weirder by the fact that the tattoos aren't your usual flowers-and-skulls shit, but leaning, cramped words in handwriting that looks like it would be at home in a letter from the eighteenth century.

He wonders what the words say. He wonders how much all those words hurt.

The man squints at John for a moment, following his line of sight, before glancing down at his arm. "Oh, shit!" he exclaims. "Forgot to wash all that off. I got some ideas for the essay series I'm doing, but I didn't have my computer with me, so this happened..." He giggles awkwardly.

"That what you need the markers for?" John jokes. "Adding a dash of color to your notes?"

The man laughs, louder and fuller this time. He throws his head back when he laughs, sending his chuckles skyward, and his ponytail swings over his shoulder.  John can feel himself developing a sort of kinship with this man.

Still not giving him the markers though.

"I could start color-coding them," the man jokes back. "Seriously, though, why do you need them?"

John shrugs, answers honestly. "I'm starting a new teaching job tomorrow at Liberty High and I want 'em for my classroom. There's something about having neon ones. I don't want to be the boring new guy, y'know?"

Handsome Stranger's eyes widen for a moment, but he blinks and John thinks he might have been imagining it. The stranger clears his throat. "Look," he says, "how about I accompany you to the register to convince you that I need those dry-erase markers? I've got a whole list of reasons."

"Sounds perfect," John says. "I could always use some company while I'm checking out in an abandoned Staples."

"Saying 'abandoned' makes it sound like the apocalypse."

"Who says it isn't?"

"Okay, but of all the large abandoned chain stores to be stuck in during an apocalypse, Staples has got to be the worst, am I right? Like yeah, I'm a huge sucker for new notebooks when nobody's trying to eat my brain, but no food, no water. Give me a Walmart any day."

John nods and starts walking toward the cash registers at the front, taking slow steps so the stranger can walk with him. He does, having to take two little steps for every one of John's even though he's not very much shorter than John is.

"Agreed. Although all the printers and office chairs and everything would make a great barricade at the front door," John points out.

The stranger inclines his head in acknowledgement of John's point. "Plus we could keep a record of the apocalypse, both on paper and on the demo computers. Once it's all over, they'll find this Staples and we'll be remembered."

"But dead from the lack of food and water."

"Yeah, also dead."

As they reach the cash register, John is so engrossed in the conversation that he pauses while the stranger checks out, letting him go first as they both motormouth their way through exactly how they'd survive in the event of an apocalypse. They've decided upon a Super Walmart as the best store to be stuck in, because  _obviously_ , but failing that, they're tossing up between various other stores. The cashier looks fed up with both of them.

"Oh, by the way," the stranger says, slipping it in at the end of a sentence. "I'm Alexander."

"John Laurens," John replies.

The stranger ( _Alexander_ , John corrects himself, liking the way the name fits the guy) fixes John with a dazzling smile, the kind people give you right before you realize you would do anything to see them smile again despite them being a total stranger in a Staples.

The cashier hands Alexander his plastic bag. It's got a big yellow smiley face on the front, the words  _have a nice day!_ printed underneath in blocky black letters. John is aware, somewhere in the back of his head, that he's been looking at Alexander smiling for too long. He's also aware, much closer to the front of his head, that he doesn't want to stop. Alexander shifts the bag to the wrist further from John and turns to leave. As the automatic doors slide open ahead of him, he turns and waves over his shoulder.

"Hey, John Laurens?" he calls.

"Yeah?" John asks.

Alexander grins once more and John swears he feels his heartbeat stutter.

"Thanks for the markers," Alexander says in a rush before dashing as fast as he can out of the Staples.

John's basket is empty.

 

Alexander Hamilton feels almost giddy on the fifteen-minute ride to his apartment (not counting the part where the machine wouldn't accept his freaking MetroCard), and he can't stop giggling. The other three people in this car must think he's off his rocker. Hell, maybe he is, but he's got a plastic bag on his lap containing a five-pack of super awesome whiteboard markers and he might have just made friends with a cute stranger.

 _Who works at the same high school as I do_. And when he gets right down to it, that's why he's giggling - he can't wait to see the look on John Laurens's face when they bump into each other at school.

He does feel bad, stealing them from someone in need. But c'mon. John obviously doesn't need any help being The Cool Teacher, whereas Alex is certain he's going to need all the help he can get. He promises himself he'll let John borrow them, though.

As soon as he makes it up to his apartment (fifth floor, elevator is still out of commission - it has been since he moved in), he sets out everything he's bringing tomorrow. Messenger bag comes first, into which will go a notebook, three pens, two pencils, the folder containing his lesson plans for this month, the folder containing his backup lesson plans just in case something goes awry, and his computer. Thermos, which he plans to fill with coffee, to be consumed by lunchtime. And, of course, his prize, the whiteboard markers.

Everything else is already sitting in his classroom at Liberty High School, dark and locked right now, but to be filled with students and words and ideas by eight o'clock tomorrow. Alexander can't wait.

 _Mr. Hamilton_ , he thinks.  _Oh god, am I gonna have to make them call me Mr. Hamilton? Yikes. No, we're not doing that. "Hamilton" alone is weird though, a bunch of my friends just call me Hamilton. Well, the kids'll come up with something. Kids always do._

Alexander packs everything into his messenger bag except the thermos and the laptop. The former he sets on the counter right next to the shitty coffeemaker he bought at a church bazaar last year. The latter he takes with him to bed so he can work on his essay series.

The air mattress sinks more than usual underneath him, and he reminds himself for the fortieth time to stop leaving his research books on the mattress during the day. He also doesn't move any of the books off of the mattress, because he's here now and he's going to need them. He works until around two in the morning, falls asleep in the middle of a sentence, and wakes up with his 5:45 a.m. alarm. He finishes the sentence, saves his work, and bounces up to take a shower.

It's his first day as an Actual Real Full-Time Teacher. Alexander couldn't be more excited.

He makes a stop in the principal's office as soon as he gets there. He's already had extensive meetings with the guy, and honestly Principal Washington is everything a high school principal should be as far as Alex is concerned: trying his best to be tough but also such a Dad-with-a-capital-D. Alexander warmed up to him during the very first summer teacher training session (even though he's still not sure how he feels about being called "son" - he ignores it because that seems like something Washington does with everybody).

"Good to see you, son," Washington says when Alex knocks on the doorframe. The door's already open.

"Good morning," Alex says, doing his best to sound chill and  _not_ like he's buzzing with anticipation for classes to start. "Just checking in."

Washington looks up at him with a wry smile. "Excited for your first day?"

Alex huffs a soft laugh. "That obvious?"

"Just a bit. Morning bell rings in forty minutes. Good luck, son."

Alex tries to keep his steps even and slow as he walks to his classroom. He can't help himself, though: when he's sure no one's watching him, he breaks into a run until he reaches his classroom.

 _First day of high school and I'm already breaking the cardinal rule,_ he thinks partway through his sprint. 

But then he can't even laugh at himself anymore, because there's a little card outside his door that says, in big important letters,  _A102 - Mr. Hamilton - English_ , and it hits him full in the chest that he's a teacher. Not a TA, not a cash-strapped sub (well he's still cash-strapped, but in a cooler way now), but a teacher. What a cool life he leads.

The first thing he does is pull the neon markers out of his messenger bag and line them up on the whiteboard. He grins every time he looks at him.

The morning bell rings (he swears no time has passed) and one by one, students file in.

 

John fast-walks to the teacher's lounge during lunchtime, fighting the flow of students toward the cafeteria. He's not quite sure where the cafeteria is yet, but he thinks he knows where the teacher's lounge is. He needs some free coffee.

He had three classes before lunch, and he's got two after, plus a break period. On the whole, everything is going better than he anticipated. The kids seem nice enough, a few people he thinks might be trouble in each class, but nothing out of the ordinary. He's especially enjoying his second-block class, a crop of eleventh- and twelfth-graders who seem rowdy but inquisitive and amiable. He thinks it might be because Military History is an elective, so they're all but guaranteed to want to be there. They've already dropped the "Mr." from his Super Official Teacher Name, choosing instead to refer to him only as "Laurens."

He doesn't mind one bit.

As he tries not to bump into passers-by, John mentally goes through the rows of kids and tries to match names to faces. _Katerina-Marie, Jon, Marco, Ingrid_ _..._  He's unconscious that he's muttering them under his breath - "...Kay, Anna, James..." - until a voice right next to him makes him jump.

"Ah, the classic plight of the first day. Do not worry - they will become second nature soon enough." John turns to face the speaker, trying not to look too startled, and is met with not-what-he-expected.

He's not sure why he pictures someone other than this man when he hears a French accent, exactly, but this is not the man he pictured. Tall, dark-skinned, frizzy hair pulled back into a knot at the base of his neck, dressed sharp enough that he could be working at some high-powered company, not an inner-city high school. The man sticks his hand out.

"Monsieur Marie-Joseph Gilbert Lafayette, pleased to meet you. Just Lafayette will do, if you don't mind - that wasn't even my full name. I teach French."

John laughs. "See, I was gonna guess German. John Laurens. History."

"Ah, so you are one of our new ones. We are like a big, strange family here at Liberty. I am sure you will enjoy your time teaching here - so long as you avoid the food they serve the students."

John laughs again. He likes this guy. "I'm actually on my way to refill on coffee. Teacher's lounge is this way, yeah?"

Lafayette nods. "I will see you around, John Laurens."

They go their separate ways. John goes back to murmuring the names of all of his students, trying to get it straight in his head. He doesn't know if it's working - he might have mixed up a few faces since class ended - but at the very least, he's got their names themselves memorized. Maybe he should have invested in name tags.

He's still got his head bent as he enters the teachers' lounge. There's just one other person in here, clattering away at a laptop. John doesn't even think to start a conversation or even give the other teacher a passing glance; his head's still wrapped up in his students. He refills his oversized coffee mug. In the background, he hears the keyboard clacks slow to a stop. John turns around. He doesn't register the face right away.

"Sorry for stealing your markers," says the other teacher, giving him a dazzling grin.

John almost drops his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so a new story begins!


	2. Proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proximity (n.) - nearness in space, time, or relationship.  
> "Like their adjacent classrooms, John and Alex were in close proximity throughout the day."

The look on John Laurens's face is even better than Alexander predicted. John almost loses his grip on his coffee mug. His eyes widen, then narrow, and his mouth is agape. Alex has to physically cover his mouth to keep himself from guffawing.

John regains full control over his coffee mug and his facial expressions, and as Alexander shakes with silent giggles, he fixes him with an accusatory stare.

"You knew and you didn't tell me!" he says.

Alex takes a deep breath to still his laughter. "Yeah, I did. I would never have stolen them if I didn't know we'd be seeing each other again, I promise. But as it was, I couldn't resist. Forgive me?" He does his best puppy-dog eyes at John, who looks annoyed. Fake-annoyed, though. The kind of annoyed front you put on when your friend just did something ridiculous but you love them anyway.

Alexander can't help but hope he and John get to be friends.

"I forgive you," John says. Alex smiles, relieved - but the relief vanishes when he notices a mischievous glint in John's eye. John continues, "But only because you saved me from having to buy them, so now I can just steal them back."

Alex snorts. "You don't even know where my classroom is."

"Where's your classroom?"

"A102," Alex replies without hesitation. He's all too happy to start a marker-stealing feud with John Laurens and his zombie-apocalypse survival strategies and his giant mug of coffee and his cute freckles. He's all too happy to start anything with John Laurens, if he's honest with himself.

 _Goddammit, Alexander, crushes on strangers are never a good idea_ , he reminds himself.

 _Yeah but can he really be called a stranger at this point, given that we're coworkers now?_ he asks himself.

 _Good point,_ he tells himself, and though he's not satisfied with that answer, it's good enough for the time being. Alexander Hamilton can rationalize just about anything to himself, at least for a little while.

"Wait wait wait," John says, no commas, almost combining the three words into one. "A102. A-one-zero-two."

"Yeah..."

"How did I not notice you? I'm right across the hall in A103."

Alex can't keep the smile off his face. "Well, John Laurens, that'll make it easier for you to steal my markers, won't it?"

"It sure will, Alexander You-Never-Told-Me-Your-Last-Name."

Alex balances his laptop on one knee and sticks out his hand for a handshake. "Hamilton."

John shakes his hand and, Alex notices, looks surprised to see it not covered in black ink. "You washed off your notes," he observes.

He's about to say something clever back, keep the conversation going, when a bell sounds over the intercom system. He looks at John, wide-eyed, and John looks back at him with an identical startled expression. If he's thinking what Alexander is thinking, they're both thinking  _oh shit._

John's expression fades into a smirk, though, and he's already halfway out the door when he tells Alexander, "I'll fast-walk race you to our classrooms."

"Unfair head start!" Alex shouts after him as he gathers up his laptop and bag and thermos (recently refilled with decent teachers' lounge coffee). John's waiting for him just outside the door, though, and they power-walk back to their classrooms, neither of them gaining even an inch on the other and touching their respective classroom doors in a perfect tie.

The second Alexander's fourth-period English class starts filing into the room, he can sense something a little bit different about these guys. Maybe it's just that they had lunch a few minutes ago, but they're talking a little louder. A little faster. Their hands move more. Their eyes dart around the room. They read what Alexander has written on the whiteboard in neon green:  _No seating chart, but I reserve the right to move you._ They confer before sitting down in small clusters.

Alexander realizes he knows why he likes these kids. This is Writers' Workshop. They're here, by their own choices, to do what he loves most of all: write. As soon as the twenty-fifth kid has walked in (he counted all twenty-five of them), he shuts the door with a bang. Some jump, some stare him down unfazed. This is going to be a fun class.

"Hey everybody. I'm Alexander Hamilton, teacher of English classes. It's gonna take me a few days to remember your names, so I don't expect you guys to remember mine. I'm sending the schedule for the next two weeks around. That's got all your homework on it, so don't lose it. Welcome to Writers' Workshop by the way. Have I not said that already? Yeah, welcome to Writers' Workshop. I'm looking forward to it and I hope you are too, because we're stuck with each other for a year."

He's not sure who starts the applause, but it's so obviously sarcastic that he has to laugh. Yeah, this is going to be one hell of a class.

He makes it through Writers' Workshop and his next class, a required class for sophomores, without any incidents (unless you count the part where someone opened a window and sent all of his papers flying throughout the room, or the part where four tenth-graders asked for pens in succession because none of them had any, or the part where a boy had to go home early because he had food poisoning from the cafeteria lunch).

His break period comes last today - it won't tomorrow, the schedule flip-flops every other day for some reason, and he's still trying to figure out why that is. He considers just going home early. After all, it's not as if he's got papers to grade, not yet. But it feels like a shame to skip out early on his first day of teaching. Alex busies himself for twenty minutes or so tidying up the classroom, locking most of his stuff into the desk, and going over each class's plan for the next two weeks making sure it'll actually work. He jots down notes for alternative activities or places to swap the order of lessons just in case they don't make it to everything.

He runs out of coffee.

He returns from the teacher's lounge (almost half an hour later, given the conversation he struck up with a woman who identified herself as the head librarian, though he never got a name), and the end-of-the-day bell is ringing. When he enters his classroom, he notices the word "sorry" is written in all capital letters on his whiteboard, each letter a different color. There are no markers there. 

 _So it's begun_ _,_ Alex thinks. He takes a long swig of his coffee and grabs his bag before heading across the hall. The plaque outside the door says  _A103 - Mr. Laurens - History_.

 

John couldn't resist drawing with the markers as soon as he got them. Currently he's doing a turtle in the corner of the whiteboard, neon green. It's adjacent to the neon orange sailboat and just below the neon pink sparrow. He hasn't gotten to the yellow or the blue yet. They're nice markers. Definitely cool teacher markers. Definitely worth stealing.

There's a knock on his classroom door, three quick raps, and John has a good idea who it is. He opens the door to find Alexander Hamilton, hands on hips, pressing his lips together to keep the grin off his face. The grin keeps returning. John leans in the doorframe, blocking Alexander's entry to his classroom.

"Nice to see you," he says. "You just get out?"

"Nah, I had last period as a prep block. How was your first day of teaching?" He edges closer, almost too small of a movement to be perceptible. John smiles and doesn't budge an inch. He's not letting Alexander in, not when he's gonna steal his markers back.

"Hey, last period's my prep too. And I think it went well! I hope it did. I mean, I don't have anything quite like this to compare it to. My Military History kids are great. You?"

Alexander's face lights up, and he moves a fraction of a step closer again, though this time John can't tell whether it's desire for his markers or sheer excitement that propels him further into John's orbit. "It was great!" Alex gushes. "I mean, stressful as fuck, and I'm running on sheer caffeine right now, but overall awesome. Like, really awesome. Writers' Workshop is going to kick ass, I can already tell, but all of my classes seem great. I should probably check in with Washington again, come to think of it, he'll want to know how it went. You wanna come along?"

John blinks, nods, feels like he's coming out of a dream. He's left wondering if it's possible for humans to bioluminesce, because Alexander seems to radiate light when he's excited. Warm, inviting light, like a candle or an old street lamp. John's dazed, and he suddenly really wants to go check in with Principal Washington.

"Yeah, sure, love to," he hears himself say. "Just let me grab my bag - it's probably time to go anyway."

Alex nods. "You gonna need me to carry anything?"

"No, no, I think I'm good." John drifts back to his desk (it awes him that he has an actual desk now) and starts piling things into his tote. When he turns around, Alex is staring at the whiteboard. More specifically, at his doodles.

"These are really cute, man. You should teach art."

John rolls his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat up. "They're okay. Besides, I could never be an art teacher - history's where it's at."

Alex snorts. "I beg to differ.  _English_ is where it's at."

"You know where it's not at? Math."

Groaning, Alexander replies, "Dude, don't tell me you hate math. I very nearly majored in economics. I mean, I also very nearly went to law school and I  _also_ very nearly did PoliSci, so I guess that's not saying much. But still! Math is cool!"

"Ehh, I just suck at it. And you seriously wanted to do all that?"

"Well yeah, I guess. I like a lot of things, and it's tough choosing between a lot of things. But when it came down to it, I couldn't actually picture my life if I wasn't a teacher, so I ended up here."

John nods thoughtfully. He's managed to get everything into his tote (after far too much fumbling) and he slings it over his shoulder. "See, for me, I just always knew I wanted to teach. Couldn't decide between biology and history 'til I was in high school, though. And my dad disapproved either way," he adds with a rueful laugh.

"Dads, am I right?" Alex says, smiling wryly. As they leave the room, he throws another glance over his shoulder at John's drawings. "Seriously, man. I'm telling you you'd make a fabulous art teacher."

They're practically to Principal Washington's office when it clicks for John that, when they left the classroom, the markers had disappeared.

 

Alex grins at Principal Washington, who's still at his desk, head bent over a computer, occasionally marking something off on a sheet of paper with a highlighter. Like he sensed Alex's grin (or, more likely, heard John and Alexander a mile away, given that they've been chattering like a pair of songbirds all the way down the hall), he looks up with a warm smile of his own and pushes his paper to the side.

"Good to see you, John, Alexander. Feeling like your first day was successful?"

"Yes!" they answer in unison. Alex chuckles and nudges John, who ducks his head.

Washington's smile grows. "Good, glad to hear it. I'm glad you came, actually. I've got a project for you, Mr. Hamilton."

Alexander blinks a few times. He thinks, A _project already? Is Washington aware that this was my first day actually teaching at this school? Does he know I met all these kids today? Is he aware that I know like three other teachers, maximum, despite having met with them half a dozen times over the summer?_

He says, "I'm always up for a project. What is it?"

"During the district shake-up toward the end of last year, our debate team lost its coach. I've been getting several angry - and very persuasive - emails from students requesting a new coach. You have debate experience, yes?"

 _Now this I can do_ , Alexander thinks.  _I mean, I can do anything, but this I'm_ good  _at._

"I'd love to!" he says, striving for calm and missing by about a mile. "Thanks. When do they normally meet?"

"Not sure, but I have the email list here. You can send one out to all the kids tonight. Hang on a moment." 

Washington rummages through the stacks of paper on his desk - it's either the most organized mess or the messiest organization Alex has ever seen - and emerges with a slip of paper containing twenty or so typed-up emails. He hands it to Alexander, who takes it carefully, like it's a precious artifact. John jabs him in the side with an elbow.

"Debate experience, huh? That why you came prepared with a list of reasons to buy those markers?"

Alex laughs. "I lied about the list of reasons, actually. I'm sure I could come up with something, though."

"You two are friends?" Washington interjects. "That was quick."

Alexander looks at John, who is already looking at him. He watches John's eyes for a second (dark, wide, long eyelashes, adorable to match the rest of him), trying to read  _yeah, we're friends_ in them. It would be so much easier if people's thoughts were printed across their faces at all times.  _Though_ , he thinks, reconsidering,  _that could also be a terrible idea. Given that I just spent a few thoughts on what nice eyes he has._

"Yeah," John says confidently, wrenching Alex from his train of thought. "We're friends."

They walk outside together once Washington releases them. Alexander finds he can't stop looking at John - which nearly costs him a whole lot of dignity as they approach the metro station (it's only a few minutes' walk from school). He doesn't realize they're entering the station, going downstairs, until it's too late and he's already stumbling over air where his foot expected to find solid ground. 

John grabs his arm and steadies him before he can fall over. Alex feels his heart stutter, and he's not sure whether it's the adrenaline rush from nearly falling to his death or the adrenaline rush from a cute guy holding onto his arm. He's not feeling much steadier.

 _Crushes on strangers, Hamilton_ , he reminds himself.

_No, not strangers. Friends._

_Even worse._

Their car is crowded to the point of being potentially dangerous, what with all the afternoon commuters on their way home from work. It's standing room only, and Alexander and John cram in right next to each other. Every jolt of the car throws them together. They laugh about it.

Alexander is still feeling the adrenaline rush, and he's pretty sure it's not from tripping.

 

John's wishing his stop wasn't before Alexander's - though the other way around would suck too. The only favorable situation would be for them to get off at the same stop. John bids Alex a fond farewell in the form of him saying, "Hey, I'll see you tomorrow, man." He wedges his way between commuters and finally manages to exit the subway all of two seconds before the doors close.

He has a hard time thinking on the walk to his apartment.

 

Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens both have trouble sleeping that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are the best part, so let me know your thoughts on the story!


	3. Debatable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debatable (adj.) - open to discussion or argument.  
> "Though the practicality of walking home at night was debatable, Alex and John did so anyway."

Alexander thinks he's starting to get into the rhythm of things. He's been here for a few days. He still hasn't set foot in the gym, or the counselor's office, or even the library (that's next on his Liberty High School checklist). He thinks he knows how things ought to go. Get to school early, make sure everything's in order, steal back his markers (or put them in position to be stolen), teach, refill on coffee, teach, teach, teach. He thinks he knows his classes: the girl who sits in the back of his sophomore English class (Amara) is too nervous to put her hand up, but she's always got great ideas; the boy at the very left in his Modern English Lit class is named George and does not appreciate being called Georgia no matter what the roster says, and Writers' Workshop is both snarkier and more brilliant than he previously imagined.

Alexander thinks he's comfortable.

He's sitting at the front of a classroom with twenty-one faces staring back at him in a half-circle. It's Friday morning. School won't be starting for another hour, but these kids are sharp-eyed. He recognizes a few from his classes. They're awake. They're expecting him to speak.

The debate club is meeting.

"You guys will have to catch me up," Alex starts, "given that I've been teaching here for all of a week and I have no clue what's going on in your club. You each have thirty seconds. Speak clearly and concisely, let me know something I need to know about debate club. You're not allowed to repeat what someone else has said. Also if you could tell me your name, that'd be great. Starting from the left - well, my left. Your right."

The kids look at each other, all twenty-one of them. A girl in the center - dark skin, almost a perfect sphere of tight black curls, dressed in a blazer and jeans - nods once. The boy all the way on Alexander's left grins and begins speaking.

Alex feels a little like he's just been acknowledged by a pack of wolves.

"Javier. First thing's first - clearly the reason you're here is because our old debate coach got fired. I'm not sure whether anybody else will tell you this - actually, I know no one else will, since we collectively decided not to in the group chat last night - but I feel like you deserve to know. You could not possibly be a worse debate coach than she was. She brought us cookies one morning and that was all she did. We've been self-directed for the past two years, at least, and I'm sure the seniors could attest to longer. In conclusion, bring us cookies twice and you'll surpass her in my book. Thank you."

Alexander nods, trying to keep a straight face. He almost manages. "That was good, Javier," he says. "That just made me think of something, though. Can you guys stand up when you talk? The desk makes you slouch, it's not your fault, it's just the way it's built."

The girl in the center nods once more, and there are nods all around. Alexander feels as though the wolves aren't showing their teeth anymore.

He learns that their next competition is in a month, that they meet every Friday morning and on Wednesday and Friday the week preceding a competition, and that they  _will_ gossip about him in the group chat, but they do that with everyone so he shouldn't take it personally. He learns that a typical meeting consists of a warm-up exercise, everyone breaking into practice debates with the odd kid out being a moderator (last year they had nineteen, still an odd number), and then fifteen minutes or so of screwing around at the end. He learns that they used to swipe coffee from the teachers' lounge until the old principal, Principal King, caught them and shut down debate meetings for a whole month.

They reach the girl in the center. She stands, straightens her blazer, and speaks.

"Nicola. Debate club is our family, so I'd like you to be prepared. We are, on the whole, dysfunctional, opinionated, and loud. Don't let this fool you. If you are unprepared to overhear group therapy sessions, hyena laughter, friendly gossip, political disagreements, and complaints about teachers, likely including you, I would suggest finding an advisor to replace you. This has already been the most productive morning we've had as long as I've been here, so in that sense I assume you're here to stay, but I think you deserve fair warning. Thank you."

She sits down. Alex cannot fight back his smile any longer.

"Try not to touch your hair so much while you speak, Nicola. Overall, though, very intense. Good, clear diction. I hope it's not too early to welcome myself to the family?"

Nicola grins. "I'd say it's about the right time." Nods all around.

Alexander feels sort of like a wolf.

 

Judging by the mile-per-minute speed of his mouth, the bounce in his step, and the shine in his eyes, Alexander Hamilton must be on his sixth or seventh cup of coffee, at least. This concerns John a little bit, since that much caffeine can't be healthy, especially for a petite guy like Alex. The fact that he's having a tough time understanding Alex since he's speaking so fast only heaps on the worry.

"Alexander, how much coffee have you had today?" he asks when Alexander pauses to heave in a breath.

"Oh, I've only gotten halfway through my thermos. Forgot to drink it after this morning. I'm just so excited about these kids, John. Teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, right? I'm a shitty teacher. But it was just so  _cool_. I've never gotten to coach anything before. And they all seem to know what they're doing, even the freshmen - hell, they probably got tips in the group chat. They have a group chat, all twenty-one of them. I betcha I could name them all right now."

"I bet you could," John says. "Are you going to?"

Alexander shakes his head. "Nah, I'll just run through 'em a bunch of times in my head. So how's your day going? Gone, I mean. Wow, day's over. Can't believe it went so fast. There's, what, five minutes 'til bell rings? Jeez. Yeah. Day quality? Good? Bad?"

John shakes his head. He needs a second before he can answer, as he's still in awe of Alexander's electricity. That's what it is, he decided. The whole man is a live wire buzzing with energy, sparking and humming and coursing with a current. John wonders how it would feel to be plugged in like that, always on, always buzzing. He gets like that sometimes, riled and red in the face and passionate about this or that. But he's only human. He can't be electric forever.

 _Maybe Hamilton's a robot,_ he thinks, letting out a muffled snort.

"My day was alright," he says, trying to get himself back on track. "Nuts that I can say normal, but... yeah, normal. James and Kat dragged the whole class into a debate about the accuracy of that History of Japan video during Military. It was hilarious."

Alex laughs. "Did you get 'em back on track?"

"Not for like fifteen minutes."

"Sounds like my kinda class."

They reach the door to the teachers' lounge. Alex opens it and, with a flourish, beckons John inside. John grins, makes a little bow, and heads inside.

The two men chatting look up as soon as they hear the door open. John recognizes one of them as the French teacher - his name definitely begins with an L. The other man is unfamiliar to him, stocky and the kind of intimidating that makes you want him on your side in a bar brawl. The effect is mitigated somewhat by his flour-dusted yellow apron. Alex follows him through the door as John gives the pair an awkward little wave. 

"Ah," says the French teacher, "Laurens and Hamilton."

"Monsieur Lafayette," Alex acknowledges with a nod.  _That_ was his name. "Hercules."

The beefy guy in the apron nods at him and John in turn. "Alexander. Alexander's friend."

"John Laurens," he says, shifting toward the coffee so he's got something to do with himself. Lafayette is talking. John only half-listens, and even when he tunes in, he doesn't quite pick up all the words, just most of them. It takes him several seconds to realize that Lafayette and Alexander are speaking French. He catches something about a restaurant a few blocks uptown, perks up his ears.

"Guys," groans the beefy guy - Hercules? That's gotta be a nickname. "Would it kill you to speak a language I have more than one semester in college worth of experience with?"

"Oui," they both respond at the same time. Lafayette takes pity on him though. "I was telling our new colleagues of our plan to get them very drunk and discuss their life stories with them this evening."

Alex and Hercules both laugh at that. John raises an eyebrow. "Am I included in the plan?"

"But of course!" Lafayette responds. "Do not worry, by the way - we are mostly going out to eat and have fun, drinks optional."

"Life story not optional," Hercules interjects with a wry smile. "Lemme get this apron off. I'm going home. Meet y'all there at, what, 7-ish?"

Nods all around. "Hang on," John says. "Where exactly is this?"

"I got you," Alex says, which isn't a real answer, but then he's scribbling something down on John's hand in neon blue whiteboard marker. It's a name, an address, and below it in a circle, a phone number surrounded by stars and smiley faces. _Alex's number_ , John knows, and he stares at it for a few moments before tearing his eyes away. John notices that Alexander's tattoo glove has returned, and he's rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to accommodate it. There's still black pen, but there are sections of bold green and bright pink. Alexander must have been doing that throughout the day, whenever he had the markers. They've gone back and forth twice already today. John can't help but feel like they're fighting for custody over a beloved pet - though that would imply that he and Alexander would have been married.

Which John's not sure he'd mind.

_Crushes on friends are a bad idea. Especially cute possibly-robot friends who work across the hall._

_Hah,_ John thinks.  _Doesn't mean I want him any less._

A few hours later, he's fixing his ponytail in the window of an itty-bitty Restaurant And Bar, as the sign blares in glowing lights. He's not sure whether Alexander or Lafayette or Hercules is here yet (as John learned, his actual, real-life name is Hercules), but damned if he's not going to look good. He sees a figure behind him in the window but pays no attention until they tap him on the shoulder. He jumps and spins on his heel, still holding his hair back with one hand.

"Lookin' good," Alexander tells him with a thumbs up and a toothy grin.

"Shut up, man," John replies good-naturedly, finally getting the elastic around his ponytail.

Alex shrugs. "I call it like I see it. So..." He affects a faux-posh voice and offers his elbow to John. "Shall we, my dear Laurens?"

John loops his arm through Alexander's and tries to control his butterflies. "I believe we shall, Mr. Hamilton."

 

Alexander walks in, arm-in-arm with John Laurens, and tries to control his butterflies.

 

As John discovers over burgers and drinks of various shapes and sizes (there's a water, a beer, a fruity cocktail, and a gigantic glass of Coke, in no particular order), Hercules Mulligan teaches both phys ed and home ec, and he's equally passionate about them both. In addition to his French classes, Lafayette is also in charge of the foreign exchange program and coordinates trips for international students within their school district, along with the heads of the programs from other area high schools. He gets off on a mild tangent about how cute the head of the foreign exchange program at their rival school, Richmond Academy, is.

As John also discovers, Alexander only gets more electric with company. Maybe it's the food - it occurs to John that this is the first time he's ever seen Alexander Hamilton eat - or the drinks - has Alex even had a drop of alcohol tonight? - or the easy, sparkling charm of Lafayette and Hercules combined. He still buzzes with energy, but everything he says falls into sharper focus. 

It's impossible to look away.

The backstories turn out to be optional, but they swap bits and pieces. John grew up in South Carolina and his family was disappointed by his choice of a non-moneymaking profession ("wasn't everybody's?" Hercules had asked ruefully). Lafayette misses France sometimes, but he's got more American spirit than most people combined. Hercules grew up poised to take over a successful tailoring business, and still does a lot of sewing with his home ec classes.

Alexander does not talk about growing up. The pieces of his story start with his job offer at Liberty. 

As the night wears on, Alex develops a round, soft-edged accent that John can't quite place.

Laughing, finishing each other's sentences, John and Alex work together to tell the story of the ongoing marker theft. It delights Laf and Herc (their names get shortened as the night goes on) in equal measure, and Herc lets out a belly laugh loud enough to startle nearby patrons.

Hercules leaves first, insisting he needs his sleep, followed shortly by Lafayette.

John can't shake the feeling that he just made friends.

 

Alexander feels like every other word he speaks is a laugh waiting to happen. He's feeling like he's made entirely of champagne fizz, pastel colors and bright bubbles and  _zing_. He walked into a restaurant on the arm of a cute guy and the evening has managed to stay just that good. It's dark out now, and he and John are some of the last few in this place, but he finds he doesn't really want to go home.

"Boy, this feels familiar," he tells John. "Us cracking jokes somewhere right before it's about to close."

John inclines his chin in recognition of Alexander. "Is this a better or worse place to be stuck than Staples in a zombie apocalypse?"

"Hmm... I'd say better. Weapons and food in the kitchen."

They go only when they're kicked out. There's the tug in Alex's gut that means guilt over his work. He should have been home awhile ago, should have been working on his essay series or lesson plans or getting those mini-assignments graded (no, wait, he's finished those, but there must be something else to grade). He should have been in his apartment, working at the kitchen table or on his air mattress, pen in hand, adding to one of his many projects, or at the very least adding to what John has affectionately dubbed "the tattoo glove."

He knows it will take ages to walk home. He knows walking home at night in the city is a terrible idea in dozens of ways.

John says, "Walk me home?"

Alex offers no protest. How could he?

Alex says, "Sure."

John says, "Gotta warn you, my apartment's pretty far."

Alex says, "Perfect."

They lean into each other on the walk despite the sticky summer air. For balance, for comfort and reassurance that there's another person in the world, who knows why? Alexander is certain he can feel little shocks coursing over his skin when John throws a friendly arm around his shoulders. Like a circuit's just been completed and the next thing he touches will light up like the Fourth of July.

"So what're you up to tomorrow?" John asks, slipping it into the conversation like it's no big deal. Probably isn't, to him, but Alex gets the sudden feeling of Very Big Deal.

"Nothing big. Making up for lost time on my essay series and whatnot. Why, taking me out for a second date?" He grins at John, hoping to hide the outpouring of  _that was too much that was way too much that was far far too much_ that just turned on in his head.

"Third, if you count both Staples and tonight," John says with a laugh. "Nah, just wondering, mostly. Unless of course you want a third date, in which case I'm happy to provide."

"Drive-in movie theater and milkshakes?" Alexander guesses. Now that this is an established joke, he's gonna keep it going for as long as he possibly can. Even fake-dating John Laurens is a great situation.

"Wear your poodle skirt," John replies.

Almost in perfect unison, they pause and burst out laughing. Side-splitting, eye-watering laughter. Alexander can't picture himself in a poodle skirt - or no, he can, and that's the issue. He pictures John in a poodle skirt, laughs harder. They lean into each other for balance and support. Alex feels John shaking against him with raucous laughs.

 _Only two kinds of people joke about going on dates,_ Alexander muses through his laughs. His body's still giggling even as his mind moves on.  _People who are dating, and people who are friends but are Not Dating Under Any Circumstances Ever._

_And John and I aren't dating._

 

 

When John finally gets himself under control enough to stop his laughter, he's hit with a sobering thought, the kind that punches you right between the ribs and makes you double over thinking about it. He was laughing at the image of Alex, of himself, of anybody they know in a poodle skirt.

He doesn't know what Alex was laughing about.

_The joke about us dating, I assume. So implausible he had to laugh. Because, of course, I've only really known Alexander Hamilton for a week. And no matter how cute, how funny, how electric, how determined to capture the markers, how flattering, or how great he is, we're fast friends and nothing else. After all, only two kinds of people joke about going on dates - people who are dating, and people who will never ever date each other ever._

_Alex and I aren't dating._

John isn't sure whether he's just imagining the forced sound of the goodbyes when Alex drops him off at his apartment. Alexander's accent has been erased from the sides of his words, depriving John of the chance to try to decipher it. Another time, maybe. He hopes so.

Alexander waves goodbye until he turns the corner. John goes inside, throws on a pair of pajama pants, and tries to sleep. He cannot sleep. He feels a residual current in his skin, as though contact with Alex plugged him into some sort of grid and he can't unplug.

He fumbles around on his bedside table for his phone and puts Alexander's number in. He struggles with the contact name. Marker Thief is funny but doesn't accurately sum up their relationship. "Alexander" and "Alex" both feel too... something, John isn't sure what.

After a few minutes of typing and retyping, he writes  _Hamilton_ , hesitates, and follows it up with a heart emoji.

Perfect.

He texts Alex immediately, only paying attention to the late hour once he's already sent it.  _I'm thinking zombie-fighting for the third date_ , it says.

To his surprise, Alexander responds almost immediately.  _So maybe something more practical than the poodle skirt, then?_

"Dammit," John murmurs to himself, and that sums up all of his feelings at the moment. He pauses, glances up at the heart emoji in Alex's contact name, and starts tapping out his response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next time: we meet the rest of the Liberty family, including the cute librarian, the cute guidance counselor, and the... math teacher.  
> Comments are my favorite part!


	4. Camaraderie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camaraderie (n.) - Mutual trust and friendship among people who spend a lot of time together.  
> "Alexander and John found themselves developing a camaraderie with the other teachers at Liberty High School, and especially with each other."

Writers' Workshop didn't groan when he assigned the first full-length essay of the year. They didn't exactly jump for joy, either, but Alexander was still impressed. He's impressed now, too, as he heads their procession to the library for the first of three in-class research days. They're already sharing their budding ideas with each other, joking and offering suggestions and words of encouragement.

He figured teaching high school would be a long throwback to his high school days. In a way, it's just that - making friends, being part of the debate team, having a crush on the cute boy next door. It's not an exact match, though. It's his experiences flipped upside down and backwards. Maybe kids are too scared to act out in front of the teacher, or maybe he just got all the non-assholes in his classes, but after almost two full weeks he hasn't seen a single instance of real bullying. No one's getting their nose broken or their books thrown in the dumpster or themselves thrown in the dumpster for having an interesting accent, at least. These are smart kids. These are good kids.

Alex feels at home at Liberty, maybe not more than he does in his little apartment, but in a different way.

The students all find their own computer nooks or head off in search of books they already know they need, but only after they all give a friendly nod or wave to the woman scanning books in behind the desk.

He recognizes her face at once, though for some reason he can't put a name to it. He's usually so good with names.

"So we meet again," he says with a grin, leaning an elbow on the desk.

The woman doesn't glance up. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she says, and Alex can't see a smile on her face, but her voice sings at the edges like she's beaming.

"Met you in the teachers' lounge the other day," he prompts. "You detained me for longer than I intended to be in there. I believe we were talking about how tragic it was that the whole Library of Alexandria burning thing happened? I never got a name." And as he says it,  _yes, that's true, that's why I don't remember. She never told me her name in the first place. Way to be mysterious._

She looks up at him now, placing the book on the growing stack beside her, and there's a knowledgeable light in her eyes suggesting that, no matter how much she lets on, she always knows more than she'll tell you. And certainly more than you know.

"My name is Angelica Schuyler."

"Alexander Hamilton," he replies with a smile.

"So what exactly are you researching?" she asks. "Must be quite the project, given that your class is on the library schedule for tomorrow and Monday." Angelica puts her scanner away and gathering up an armload of books. Alexander grabs a few off the top of the pile and tags along after Angelica.

"It's the first big essay of the year," he explains, feeling himself get excited. "It's a research paper. Usual rubric for spelling, grammar, proper MLA citations, insightful commentary."

"What's it on?" Angelica inquires, voice sly, like she knows that's the exciting part.

"Whatever the hell they want it to be on! Maxwell is doing the link between stress hormones and academic performance. Marisa's researching styles of Latin dance, and she's thinking of connecting it to the mythology of their originating cultures, if I remember correctly. Raul is somehow using a research paper to tell his own personal narrative of learning to love reading, I'm not sure how he's going to do it, but his outline was impressive. I have the whole list-"

Angelica laughs. It's not the laugh Alexander would have expected from her, but it suits her way more than the pleasant titter he assigned her in his head. It's throaty and pitched lower than her normal voice; it sounds wicked in the way that makes you hope and pray she's on your side. Her laugh is also contagious, and Alex finds himself laughing too. Whether it's with her, at himself, just to keep up with the joke, it's hard to say. Angelica shows him where the books go and he shelves them with no small amount of pride.

Cam comes up and murmurs a question to Angelica about where to find a book. She directs her smilingly to the next row of shelves. Alexander gapes as Cam scurries off.

"What?"

Alex blinks. "That's the first time Cam's spoken all year."

"What's he doing his paper on?"

"She," Alex returns absently, still marveling. "And she's discussing the psychological reasons why magic tricks work."

"Oh, whoops. She. Her paper sounds awesome."

As they round the corner to shelve the final book, Alex can't help but break into a grin. "Teaching is awesome," he says.

"As is being a school librarian," Angelica returns agreeably.

 

Cam leans over and nudges Elisa, who's got her head bent over a laptop. "I think A-Ham and Ms. Schuyler are cute," she murmurs, almost too quiet for Elisa to hear.

Elisa's head snaps up. "Oh my god, were you spying on them?"

"Sort of. I needed a book but they were in the middle of a conversation, so I just waited. He was bragging about all of us to her. It was cute."

"Okay, one, adorable. But two..." Elisa saves her work and pushes the laptop away, turning to face Cam. "So you, like, actually talked to them? You legit asked for a book. Or where to find it. Or something."

Cam nods, looking away. Elisa hugs her tight. "Girl, that is the best news I've heard all day!"

"Shut up, Lis," Cam mumbles.

As Elisa turns back to her work, she considers the idea of their teacher and the librarian getting together. "Yeah, that would be cute. But I dunno. I'm still voting for whoever keeps leaving those little drawings on his whiteboard."

Cam nods thoughtfully. "It could be her, you never know."

"Remind me why we're trying to set up our English teacher with various other faculty?"

Cam shakes her head, laughing through her nose. "No idea."

 

Starting Monday, John took to leaving doodles on Alexander's whiteboard whenever he popped in to steal the markers, at lunchtime or while Alexander was off refueling or in the bathroom or whatever. It's Thursday now. Four days of turtles and sailboats and flowers and snails and school supplies and zombies. None of the students nor Alex has caught him yet. He's glad - it means he gets away with theft - but it's also a disappointment, never being around to see Alex's reaction to the drawings.

 _Better I don't see it,_ John thinks, smiling for no one but himself. _I'd probably declare my love for him on the spot. Man, I'm an idiot. I don't even know if he's into guys._

His European History class is taking their first test of the year. The only sound in the room is the scratch of pens and the occasional cough or sniffle. It's only September, but there's already some sort of cough-sore throat-headache triple threat going around. John supposes that's what happens when you stick around a thousand kids in the same place for a minimum of seven hours a day.

As he keeps doing lately - way too goddamn often, as far as John's concerned - he contemplates Alexander. It starts with picturing his little lightbulb grin at the drawings (John's extrapolating from other little lightbulb grins), but - as it keeps doing lately - it evolves. His hair. His funny t-shirts. His electricity, it always comes back to that. John pictures what it would be like to kiss him.

And then stops picturing that right away.  _Not in class, first of all, and not Alexander, second of all. We're friends. I can't do this to him._

Because that's what it comes right down to, isn't it? After having officially taught at the same school for almost two weeks, going out on a Friday night, running into each other that Sunday at the park, spending their break times together, swapping lesson plans, and getting to know Liberty side by side, they're friends. Good friends. Some people will never find a connection as instant or as casually warm as theirs is. It's the kind of friendship that friends are always aspiring to, where any topic they're given will fuel their conversation, where friendly hugs and nudges with elbows are the norm, where late-night texts are signed with the heart-eye emoji just for kicks.

 _We hit it off immediately,_ John thinks, the irony not lost on him.

In front of him, Penny is holding out her paper, squinting at him. "You okay, Laurens?" she asks.

John nods. "Mm-hm. Lost in thought. You checked it over? Okay, good." He takes it and places it in a blank spot he cleared on the desk. "You can just start your homework. I planned for the whole block."

Penny grins and bounces back to her seat.

Thursday after school, the Student Council provides a row of doughnuts for the teachers, box after box in the teachers' lounge, as a belated welcome-back. There's a sign on the door that says  _Sorry this didn't happen sooner! Our first meeting got canceled. XOXO, LHS Student Council._  

John isn't surprised to find the room more packed with teachers than he's ever seen it, all of them mobbing the doughnuts. He spots Hercules right away, in his customary flour-spotted apron. Today's is petal pink. Lafayette, too, stands out, leaning against the wall with a doughnut and chattering away to Eliza Schuyler, the young, dark-haired guidance counselor John met earlier this week. John wonders offhand if everybody at this school is young. After a few seconds he even discerns Principal Washington, off to the side, watching the proceedings with a little smile cutting his normally stoic expression into smaller, less intimidating pieces.

Alexander isn't visible. As John learns after grabbing a doughnut - chocolate frosted, chocolate sprinkles, one of his favorites - and picking his way through the crowd to Hercules, this is because Alexander is not in the room yet.

"Yeah, he's in the math wing," Herc explains. "He met Burr two days ago and I don't think he's quit talking to him since."

"Burr?"

"Math teacher. He's been here for a few years. Does all the upper-level stuff. AP Calculus and whatnot. Aaron's a real boring guy, honestly, but nice enough. Can't imagine what he and Hamilton have in common."

His question is answered as Alexander Hamilton bursts through the door, a taller guy trailing behind him looking bored out of his mind.

"I swear, Burr, it's like we have absolutely nothing in common!" Alexander is exclaiming. Herc struggles to muffle a laugh and takes another bite of his doughnut to silence himself. John snorts, too, barely managing to swallow his bite before doing so. 

"Isn't that funny," Burr drawls. This is the point at which John notices: Aaron Burr is kinda cute. Which is a problem.

"Hey, Alex!" John calls, waving the hand still holding a fragment of doughnut.

Alexander puts himself on pause, mid-word, and turns toward the sound of John's voice with the lightbulb grin John pictures on his face all the time. He feels his own cheeks heat up and shoves the rest of his doughnut in his mouth. Alex mutters something to Burr, too far away and too quiet for John to catch, before fast-walking over to throw a buddy-buddy arm around John's shoulders. His cheeks are burning.

"Glazed doughnut, Alex?" he says incredulously. "I would have pegged you as a chocolate guy."

"I am a chocolate guy, actually, but they're all gone, so I went for the next best bet."

"Might be guilty of the chocolate shortage," John admits. "Just couldn't help myself."

Alex wiggles his eyebrows. "Now that, I understand," he says. John Laurens thinks he might sink through the floor. It'd be a welcome alternative right now. Alexander's still got an arm around his shoulders and half of the glazed doughnut is gone (and John realizes this is only the second time he's seen Alexander eat). He's got crumbs at the corner of his mouth and John indulges, just for a second, in what it might be like to kiss him.

 

"C'mon, sis," Angelica says, grabbing her sister by the elbow and shooting Monsieur Lafayette an apologetic look. "There's someone you simply have to meet."

Eliza raises an eyebrow. "The Library of Alexandria guy?"

Angelica nods. "It's funnier because his name is Alexander. He's the one making goo-goo eyes at what's-his-face the new history teacher."

"John Laurens?"

"Yeah, him."

"John's a darling. I met him earlier this week."

"Well, I'm glad you like him. You're going to love Alexander, though. He's a bit of a pain in the ass, but in a lovable way."

Eliza shakes her head. "Angel, are you trying to set me up with-"

Angelica barks out a laugh. "Are you kidding me? Even if he's not one hundred percent gay, he's so in love with what's-his-face-"

"John Laurens."

"-Him, yeah, that it physically pains me."

 

Alexander tears his eyes away from John (he's lost count of the freckles again, but he doesn't plan on giving up) when Angelica taps him on the shoulder. She's holding another woman by the elbow.

"Hey. As long as we're doing a meet-and-greet, I figured you ought to get acquainted with the nicest human being on Earth."

"Quit talking me up, Angel."

"Hey, Eliza!" John exclaims.

Angelica grins. "Way to ruin the introductions, Laurens. This is Elizabeth Schuyler-"

"Eliza will do, Angel."

"-My darling younger sister."

Alexander and John and Angelica and Eliza make pleasant small talk until the doughnuts are all gone. Alex takes a shine to Eliza, he can feel it as they talk. They've got an instantaneous connection, the kind he seems to be making with everybody lately. They find the same things funny, and Eliza gives off a sort of warm glow. He's got the nagging little thought that they'll be fast friends. A lot like he and Angelica. A lot like he and John.

 _Because John's my friend, my friend, my friend,_ Alex reminds himself.  _And that's not something I should ruin. I mean, bad enough that I don't even know if he's into guys, but it's not often a friendship like this comes along. It's not often_ _you make a connection. I got lucky, I'm developing three. But John's different. I can't fuck that up._

 _Doesn't mean I can't count his freckles, though,_ he thinks.

 _Good point,_ he tells himself.

Even as he laughs at some horrible pun Eliza just made, Alex's head is full of  _one - two - three - four..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, the debate club meets again, and Alex has some rough luck.  
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments!


	5. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelation (n.) - a surprising and previously unknown fact, especially one that is made known in a dramatic way.  
> "On the walk home, Alexander and John each had a revelation about the other's personal life."

On Friday morning, twenty-one people pile into Alexander's classroom with water bottles full of coffee and heads full of words waiting to be spoken. Alex is prepared this morning, sitting on his desk and greeting every club member with a wave and a small pile of Oreos. He took the cookie thing seriously - he might have spent a few bucks of his rent money on a gigantic value pack of Oreos for the kids, but that's okay, because he's been putting his grocery budget towards rent.

It's a delicate balance.

"Morning, all," he says.

"Morning," they chorus back, many of them through full mouths.

"First thing's first today," Alex announces, standing and moving toward the front of the classroom. He's retained the whiteboard markers since midday yesterday, so he's able to write  _NO TALKING_ in bright pink. "You guys have your mouths full anyway, so this should be easy."

There's an Oreo-muffled uproar which lasts a few seconds and dies down again when Nicola raises her hand, pauses, and speaks without being called on. "I don't understand," she says bluntly. "Competition is two weeks from tomorrow. Now seems like a poor time to prevent us from talking."

"It may seem that way now," Alex admits. "Hear me out, okay? First half of the meeting is devoted to posture. I'll let you guys talk again in, say, half an hour? But right now I need two volunteers." At that, Javier's hand shoots up - kid's always up for anything - as does Gloria's. Alex grins, beckons them to the front.

"Alright," he whispers, low enough that only his two volunteers can hear him. "You're gonna stand up here for a second in your normal debate posture, but then when I say 'go,' I need you both to try to look smarter than each other, okay? Just change your body language to what you think will make you look smart."

They seem puzzled, but nod in agreement.

On Alexander's "Go!" he can feel the class react almost immediately. No words, but there's a distinct rustle of interested fidgeting when Javier and Gloria both straighten up further than they were, set their expressions differently, hold their arms at a different angle.

"Good job, guys. Hold it for just a second. Can the rest of you just point to who you think looks smarter? Based on posture alone. Who looks more intelligent?"

Most of the pointed fingers in the room indicate Gloria. Alex grins. "Agreed. Hm... Vic. What's Gloria doing that makes her look smarter?"

"Well, she's-"

Alex cuts him off. "Hey, no talking, man. Don't tell me. Just show me."

Vic pauses, brow furrowed as he thinks, before tilting his chin upward a few degrees, so his gaze is directed downward at the people around him instead of at eye level. Alexander claps his hands together, delighted. "Yeah, exactly!" he says. "Javier, try the chin thing."

Javier tries the chin thing, and enough of the Gloria-pointed fingers are redirected to Javier to give them a tied score.

"Sweet. You two sit down," Alex instructs. "Alright, two more?"

They go through various characteristics - okay, now try to look more trustworthy. Now try to look wittier. Now try to look more angry - no, not like that, like you're fired up about a cause. Perfect. Now try to look more confident. The debate team seems to be having a blast, if their expressions are anything to go by. He can't tell from their words. Ever since Vic, no one except Alex has spoken a single word in this classroom.

Once everybody's cycled through the useful ones, Alex asks if anyone wants to do a few fun ones, just for practice. Of course, they all do. Try to look more embarrassed. Try to look more in love. Try to look more nauseous. (Nicola wins that one, hands-down.) They go a little bit over the half-hour time limit that Alex allotted for this activity, but it's fine. After all, he didn't have anything else planned for today's meeting.

As the activity peters out, he erases the _NO_ on the whiteboard, so it just reads  _TALKING_. "Alright, who wants to come up here and give me a thirty-second speech about why what we just did is important?" he asks. "Or, if you prefer, why that was a complete waste of your time that we should never do again? Gotta hear both sides."

A little giggle ripples through the team. Javier, of course, volunteers.

"This activity," he says, posture confident, doing the chin thing, "was not a complete waste of my time."

Laughter. Javier grins, resettles his expression, and continues. "While it may seem contrary to avoid speaking two weeks before a speaking competition, posture communicates a message just as a speech does. Even without words, it was clear that Gloria knew what she was talking - or rather, not talking - about. Additionally, when asked to present myself in a way that made me seem smart, doing so made me feel like a smarter person. As such, my time was not wasted by doing this activity and I suggest we use this regularly to improve our team. Thank you."

He sits down to a round of applause. Kids get up, make speeches. Among the points in favor of the activity are that acting confident makes you feel confident, good posture can sway judges at competitions, it's useful in real life to tell if someone is confident or in love or nauseous or whatever, you can pick out nervousness in your opponents by watching their posture, and, to quote Elisa, "I've never heard Nicola be quiet for so long!"

Everyone cracks up at that one. Nicola is laughing the hardest.

In the middle of Vic's heavily sarcastic speech about how terrible the activity was, the door opens with a slow creak. John Laurens walks in, sees a total of twenty-two faces watching him, and leans back toward the door.

"Sorry, I'll go," he says. "I was just gonna grab my markers."

" _My_ markers," Alex retaliates.

John laughs, continuing, "I didn't realize you were meeting. Debate club, right?"

Nods.

Alex crosses toward John in two long steps, feeling himself light up at John's shy smile. "Aw, stay for awhile, Laurens! We've got another ten minutes before the bell. Besides, Vic was just giving a fantastic speech."

Vic grins. "I was," he confirms.

John pauses, pantomiming a deep consideration when it's obvious to Alex that he's already made up his mind. Like he always does when John's around, he feels himself leaning in, being drawn to John like he's a planet orbiting a brilliant, shining, freckled sun. When John affirms that okay, he'll stay, Alex fights a cheer.

He makes John sit next to him and far, far away from the markers. And if they happen to accidentally brush shoulders or knees sometimes, seated at adjacent desks, well, that's not Alexander's fault, is it?

 

"Okay, so get this," Elisa says over lunch. Cam is pulling the tomatoes off of her turkey sandwich, and Nicola (who's never sat with them before - Elisa's hoping to turn their acquaintanceship into a friendship) is pushing something that almost passes for mashed potatoes around her tray.

"Get what?" Cam asks, more to her tomatoes than to Elisa.

"I was at debate this morning. A-Ham's our advisor."

"You call him A-Ham?" Nicola asks, incredulous.

"Well yeah. Can you imagine calling him  _Mr. Hamilton_?"

"Good point."

"So anyway," Elisa continues, taking a big bite of her empanada (she always brings lunch from home), "there were like ten minutes left of our meeting when this guy shows up. Mr. Laurens, I think?"

"Mm-hm," Nicola interjects. "He's a history teacher. He's new. I have him for Modern American."

"Right, yeah, History Teacher Laurens barges in, and A-Ham convinces him to stay and watch our speeches. These are not the important parts of the story. The first important part is that we'd just spent most of the meeting doing body-language exercises and A-Ham was literally doing the In Love stuff we'd just practiced. I mean, legit. Leaning in, the little eyebrow flash thing, orienting towards him. I swear, it was almost too much."

"I noticed that too," Nicola agrees, now sculpting her mashed potatoes into something that looks like a bird. "They were both doing it."

Cam chuckles. "I swear there's something wrong with us. But what about Mysterious Whiteboard Doodler?"

"Who?" Nicola asks. Cam ducks her head, still shy around Nicola, leaving Elisa to explain.

"Someone leaves doodles on A-Ham's whiteboard every day with those neon markers he's got. It's really cute. Cam and I think A-Ham should totally get together with Mysterious Whiteboard Doodler. But that's actually the second important part of the story. When he first came in, Mr. Laurens mentioned getting his markers, and then A-Ham was all like, 'you mean  _my_ markers.' Point being..."

Cam gasps. "You think Mr. Laurens is Mysterious Whiteboard Doodler."

"I do indeed."

 

John comes to the debate meeting the next Friday, too. Mostly he watches as Alexander leads the kids in various speaking activities, correcting this or that, offering suggestions and positive feedback. Alexander is a veritable tide of positive feedback. They do an activity where they have to switch positions on a topic mid-speech. They eat Oreos.

There's a familial atmosphere in the room when the debate team meets, some force linking all the members of this team. Alexander is a part of it. John is not, and he feels like he's sitting at the edge of a woven rug, trying to discern how all the fibers fit together. He doesn't mind being on the outskirts - especially when Alex takes it upon himself to drag John into their world. It's literal, too, Alex's hand around John's wrist, pulling him into adjacent desks as they watch the kids together.

That Friday, it's John who invites the crew out for food and drinks. He includes Angelica and Eliza Schuyler in his invitation, too, but they decline, saying it's their sister Peggy's birthday and they're already taking her out to dinner with the family. John wonders just how many Schuyler sisters there are.

Hercules forgot to remove his apron at school (it's the yellow one again today), and it's clear that their waitress doesn't know whether to be frightened of him or find him adorable. Judging by the looks she's shooting him, it seems to be the latter.

Lafayette takes a long sip of his drink. "Hercules, I am not sure I understand your problem."

"We're three weeks into the semester and his parents are making him drop my class!"

John shakes his head. "Fucking parents. Is there a reason they don't want him taking gym?"

"Not gym, ya knucklehead." Hercules Mulligan uses 'knucklehead' as a term of endearment. "Home ec. They're frightened for his manliness or some similar bullshit. He's better at sewing than most of the class."

"What year is this?" Alex asks rhetorically, slamming his drink down for emphasis. "Sewing is a useful skill. That's fucked up."

"Besides," Lafayette adds, "I have a hard time understanding their fears when the home ec teacher is perhaps the epitome of manliness."

Hercules snickers and flexes. John, Alex, and Laf all make mocking oohs and aahs. The waitress brings their check in the middle of the four of them flexing and posing in their booth, generally having a good time being complete idiots. They split the bill unevenly, each of them paying what they can. John pays a good deal of it. He refuses to let his friends - and god, how nice it is to call them his friends - drop more money on this than they can afford.

Alex especially.

Growing up wealthy like John did, it's easy to spot class divides, given how his father loved to point them out to him. So yeah, they're all teachers scraping by. But John hasn't been disinherited yet, so he's doing a lot more getting by. And Alex?

Well, he's doing most of the scraping.

As usual, the gang stays late and goes their separate ways outside the bar. John and Alex hit the sidewalk, while Herc and Laf (given that they are _not_ lovesick idiots with no regard for how late it is) head for the train. Every time Alex walks John home, he goes slower. Someday, John figures, they'll just stand on the street talking until morning hits. But for now they mosey in the general direction of John's apartment.

"I can't believe you didn't wear the poodle skirt," Alex jokes.

John snorts. "I thought we decided that was impractical? To be honest, though, even a poodle skirt couldn't make a night out with you guys my worst date ever."

Alexander gives a low whistle. "Damn, gotta be pretty bad to top seeing me try to flex. Though granted, wouldn't be my worst date ever, either."

"Damn," John echoes. "What's yours?"

"Back when I still thought I was into women - hah, throwback - this girl took me to an amusement park with her family and we both threw up on the same roller coaster. Let me tell you, vomit kinda ruins the first date."

John gives an appreciative wince, unsure whether to believe his ears.  _Back when he still thought he was into women. Meaning he's not. Meaning that unless he's into nobody at all, I have a shot._

_Calm down, Laurens. I still don't have a shot in hell._

_But then again, neither does half of his potential dating pool._

"Mine's a little less gross," John says. "Took a girl to my senior prom to please the parents - Dad's never been cool about the gay son thing - and spent the whole evening dodging advances from her. It was... awkward."

Alex cackles. "I dunno, you might have me beat. At least I got ice cream on my worst date."

The conversation moves on, but John's head is still spinning like he's been on one too many rides at the amusement park. Alexander just slipped that so casually into the conversation. Could it mean something? Could he want John to know? Could he want  _John?_

_No, you moron,_ John admonishes himself.  _He told me because I'm his friend. And he trusts me. And damned if I break that trust._

 

Alexander isn't sure whether to believe his ears.  _The gay son thing. Meaning he's gay. Meaning that I have, like, twice as much of a shot with him as I did before._

_Hah, yeah. Two times zero is still zero._

Still, when he drops John off outside his apartment, he hugs him goodbye, relishing the contact, and John isn't the one to pull away first. Maybe that means something. More likely it means nothing. Regardless of the indecipherable nature of John Laurens, Alexander all but skips back home. It's been a good night. It's been a long series of good nights, starting in that Staples - wow, almost a month ago now.

He takes the stairs two at a time up to his apartment, feeling lighter than air.  _John Laurens is gay, I am friends with John Laurens, I hugged John Laurens and he didn't pull away first._

He almost fails to detect the eviction notice taped to his apartment door.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Alex needs a place to stay, and Lafayette attends a debate tournament with ulterior motives.
> 
> Comments are a great deal of my motivation for this story, so let me know what you think!


	6. Provisional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Provisional (adj.) - arranged or existing for the present, possibly to be changed later.  
> "Alexander's stay in his friend's apartment was intended to be a provisional arrangement, only until he found somewhere else to live."

Alexander arrives at school earlier than usual, before even Washington gets there. Assistant Vice Principal Samuel Seabury is unlocking the office. In response to Alex's good morning smile, Seabury just glares. He has never seen the guy out of a bad mood. Alexander Hamilton makes his way toward his classroom, trying not to think.

He gets there early because he couldn't bear to look at all of his things in cardboard boxes anymore.

He started packing on Saturday, found some old boxes and shoved everything in there. The thing that makes him sad isn't being evicted - he knows how to deal with that, knows how to look presentable and stop things from being stolen, or find enough people who'll let him crash for a day or two. It just disappoints him how little there is to pack, like the sum total of his life is an old coffeemaker and two threadbare towels. His books are the only thing of substance, and he's reluctant to stuff those into a box, since he uses most of them for research (or distraction) every night.

So far he's filled two boxes, and even dismantling his IKEA furniture will only fill two more, maybe one if it's big enough. One more for the books. His whole apartment condensed down into something he won't even need help moving. Aside from the books, Alex is pretty sure his most prized possession is his five-pack of neon markers.

Which, oddly, are missing this morning. He could have sworn he had them on Friday evening when they all left school, but their absence is clear as ever. They've been replaced with scattered doodles of roller coasters and ice cream in the corner of the whiteboard. Despite himself, Alexander grins, and he takes a trip across the hall.

He closes the door behind him, careful not to let it slam. John's at his desk, head bent, absorbed in glancing back and forth between two papers. Grading a test, most likely. The whiteboard markers are all lined up on the board, and John's stuck them all together, cap to bottom to cap, to form a marker sword. That makes Alex chuckle. His laugh is the first thing that alerts John to his presence, and he jerks his head up, startled.

"Alexander! You're here early."

Alex shrugs. "That I am. You are too, in case you hadn't noticed."

John, laughingly, says, "Touche. I promised the kids I'd have their tests back by today, but I forgot them here over the weekend, so I'm grading the last couple now."

"Ah, how interesting," Alex mocks, keeping his tone light. He walks over to John's desk, clears a space, and sits down on the edge of it. John hums in an agreeable way and turns back to the test. Alexander peeks over his shoulder. This part's a fill-in-the-blank section. Doesn't look impossible, but judging by how the current kid is doing, doesn't seem too easy either. Alex keeps watching as John grades, moving on to the essay sections. It looks like a well-done test.

"Dude, did you write this yourself?" Alex asks.

John's pen pauses. "I mean, not really. I pulled the multiple choice and fill-ins from a bunch of different sources, and I wrote the essay questions."

"It's good. It's a good test."

John snorts. "Tell that to the kids." He pauses. "Nah, I'm not giving them enough credit. So far the average grade on this thing is like an 86, which is awesome."

"You taught them well," Alexander agrees, beaming. He's proud of the class because John is proud of the class, but more than that, he's proud of John for helping these people enough to be proud of them. It occurs to Alex that he and John have known each other for over a month now. The time has flown. He wants more of it.

_There's a whole school year left in which you're required to be in each other's presence, Alexander._

_Good point._

"So I liked the worst date-themed drawings," Alexander comments as John finishes the final test. "They were a great way to start the day. Made me happy." He punctuates this statement with a grin, because he can't help smiling when he imagines John considering what to draw, picking out colors, remembering their conversation.

The blush starts high on John's cheeks, a darkening-but-not-quite-reddening that swallows his freckles and travels down his face until it reaches his jawline. John rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "I'm glad you liked 'em," he says, more to the desk than to Alex.

"They're adorable," Alexander says, still beaming, and what he really means is "you're adorable," because holy  _shit_ , Blushing John Laurens adds a whole new dimension to the already cute guy. He hopes John can't detect in his voice that Alexander himself feels a blush coming on.

John chooses that moment to look up from his intense study of the desk to see Alex go a few shades darker than usual. This, of course, makes it worse.

Alexander clears his throat, willing himself to  _stop making it so goddamn obvious that you're in love with your best friend._

And then,  _wait, hold up a sec._

 

"John Laurens, it's just come to my attention that you're my best friend," Alex announces.

John doesn't think that's what they were talking about. He can't be certain though, because damn near every thought in his brain fled when Alexander Hamilton started complimenting him, and the few that were left went running when he looked up and Alex was blushing. Alexander Hamilton's blush is a beautiful thing, because it settles around his cheeks and ears, right near where the strands of hair slipping from his ponytail curl.

So while he doesn't  _think_ they were talking about him being Alexander's best friend, he's got a good excuse for not really knowing.

"I... uh..." John struggles for a response. "How exactly was this brought to your attention?"

"Just got a memo," Alex replies seamlessly. "It's not signed, just reads  _Hey dummy, John Laurens is your best friend_."

"You gotta get nicer memo writers," John says with a laugh. "Lucky for you, I'm great at writing memos."

"Aww, you'd do that for me?"

"Anything for my best friend."

John's hit with the same feeling he remembers from the first night he met Alexander in the Staples, the feeling that he'd do anything to make Alexander smile like he is right now. It's a smile that reaches his eyes and crinkles them at the edges, the kind that tilts his whole body towards John and makes him glow like an incandescent lamp. John is frantically sorting through his head for something else to say, fast, so he doesn't lose himself in watching Alex smile.

"So why're you here so early?" is what he comes up with.

He wishes he hadn't come up with that. Alexander's face falls like someone pulled the plug. His whole electricity shuts down, and he pushes himself off of John's desk. "Just didn't wanna be at the apartment," he says. His voice sounds evasive.

"And why's that?" John pushes.  _Stop it, stop it,_ he keeps thinking, but his curiosity is getting the better of him, as his curiosity always does.

Alex yanks at his ponytail, a nervous gesture. He's turned only half toward John right now. "Packing."

"Oh, are you moving?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, not moving. Getting kicked out for not paying my rent on time, like, ever." He's grinning at John. A fake grin. A lousy approximation of his smile just moments ago.

John stands up, desk chair spinning behind him. "Alexander, that's awful! Have you found a place to stay yet?"

"Well not yet, no, but I still have a couple weeks. Besides, I've got friends in the city who I can crash with for a couple days if necessary. Nothing wrong with couch-surfing." He widens the fake grin, and John wonders if the human heart can physically break. "You don't need to worry about me, John. I can feel you worrying from over here."

John's decision is quick and final. "You're right. I don't need to worry about you-"

"Exactly! I-"

"Cuz you'll be staying with me until you find a place."

Alexander blinks twice, startled. "I... no, I... wow, that is not at all what I meant."

John grins brightly, settled that this is going to happen. "Maybe not, but it's what I meant for sure. It'll be fun! Come hang out for a few weeks - I've got a spare room you can use. That way you won't have to worry about hopping from place to place until you get settled. Besides, we spend practically all our time together anyway."

Alexander is still blinking hurriedly, like the faster he moves his eyes, the faster he'll process this development. After a few seconds, it seems to settle into some slot in his brain with a click and a whirr. He takes a deep breath and spits out a long string of information.

"John, I'm not sure you understand. I'm the worst roommate you could possibly ask for. I don't sleep, like, almost ever, so I'm gonna be up at all hours writing and wasting your electricity and running up the bill. I can cook but I hate doing dishes so I just don't. I just leave them there in the sink. Or, well, actually I just use paper plates and shit, but I assume you have dishes because I don't peg you for a lazy asshole. I have a lot of books and I leave them everywhere. The first roommate I ever had kicked me out because I left a couple of books in the bathroom and he tripped over them getting to the shower and broke his ulna. I appreciate the offer, I'm serious, that may be the nicest thing someone's offered to do for me in years and years, but you do  _not_ want me in your house."

John's learning to follow Alexander's leaping threads of words, unraveled at an inhuman speed, so he's able to respond with only a second of delay. Alex needs that second to catch his breath, anyway. "You wanna know something funny?" John asks.

"Sure."

"I do own actual dishes. But I never use them - I just order takeout instead."

"Why's that?"

John smiles. "Because I don't mind doing dishes, but I can't cook to save my life."

Alexander looks at him for a moment. John feels like Alex is looking straight through his skin to something inside of him, something deeper, hidden away where even John has a hard time finding it. A slow smile curls up the edges of Alex's mouth, one side going higher than the other, until his entire body is racked with a belly laugh that has him doubled over laughing. Alex's laughter sounded fake the first time John heard it, affected to be as sweet and charming as possible. But no, that's just Alexander's normal laugh. It pitches a little higher than his voice, and when he really gets going, it's not described properly as anything but a guffaw.

John loves that laugh. It gets him laughing too until the both of them can barely breathe, hands on each other's shoulders for support, making the kind of racket they can probably hear in the classrooms on either side.

"You'd do that for me, though?" Alex asks once he finally contains himself.

John nods without hesitating. He says, "Duh. Anything for my best friend."

Throughout the day, John Laurens is on cloud nine. He's gonna have Alexander Hamilton in his apartment, if only for a few weeks. It's only when the afternoon bell rings and he starts sorting through worksheets does it sink in that  _I'm gonna have Alexander Hamilton in my apartment. With me. Every morning, every night for the next few weeks._

_He is going to be one room over from me every night._

_He is going to use my kitchen._

_He is going to shower in my house while I am also in the house._

_What did I just get myself into?_

 

 

Alexander Hamilton moves in the next afternoon. It's not a true move-in, since he has a total of six cardboard boxes to move and four of them are still stacked, one atop the next, in the corner of John's spare room. But he re-inflates his air mattress and sets out all his books around the room, plugs his laptop in to charge, and when John pokes his head in the door to check on how he's settling in, it feels just as much like home as his apartment did.

Maybe more so.

He isn't quite sure how he makes it through the week. The thought comes when he's tapping out a lesson plan or edits to an upcoming quiz or a new draft in his essay series (still unpublished everywhere, but growing by the day) and he hears John mumbling in his sleep through the thin wall; it comes again when he rolls off the air mattress when it's still dark outside to make eggs for the both of them and hears the shower water running. Alexander wonders just what he got himself into by letting John let him stay.

He's not complaining, though. Even when he's not struggling with barely-repressed feelings for his best friend slash roommate, he likes having company on the train to work in the morning. He likes the excuse to cook. He likes John's pet lizard - a tiny anole named Speedy who lives up to his name, dashing around his gigantic terrarium every time Alex comes over to say hello.

He likes John.

They settle into a horribly domestic routine: Alex wakes up (or rather, gets off the air mattress, as he's usually awake anyway) and starts cooking breakfast. The breakfast smells wake John up, who zombie-shuffles his way to the shower. They eat breakfast together. They get dressed. They take the train to school. In the afternoon, after school, they often work side-by-side in either Alex's classroom or John's, or the teacher's lounge, or even Principal Washington's office (he's taken a shine to both of them). They take the train home, and either Alex cooks dinner or they forget to eat. Alex takes a shower, they change, watch Jeopardy (John is religious about it, and between the two of them, he and Alex tend to know all the answers), and go to bed.

It's weird.

"So," Alex asks John, who's still in half-zombie mode on a Friday morning, "You gonna come watch the team tomorrow?"

John perks right up at the mention of the debate team. "That's this Saturday? Hell yeah, count me in. Besides, I think Nicola would be pissed if I didn't show up."

"Nicola will be pissed no matter what. She's good at that," Alex says with a laugh.

That afternoon, he bumps into Lafayette outside the bathroom. "Ah, Alexander!" Laf crows, smiling genially. "I will be attending the first debate competition of the year tomorrow!"

"Dude, Laf, that's awesome!" Alex pauses. "Why though?"

"To cheer on your incredible team, of course! And also because the foreign exchange guy is going to be there and I would like to see him."

Alexander snorts. "What'd you say his name was again?"

"Thomas Jefferson. He is extremely cute."

"I'll take your word for it, man. You'll have to point him out to me so I don't get in your way by accidentally flirting with him or something."

Laf rolls his eyes. "I am certain you will not get in my way, mon ami."

"Oh yeah?"

"As if you have eyes for anybody but our dear friend John." At Alexander's dropped-jaw expression, Laf cackles. "No worries, mon ami, I would never tell him. That is your secret to do with as you please."

As Monsieur Lafayette strolls away, still chuckling to himself, Alexander stares after him.

_How many people know?_

 

John Laurens is squished into a single subway car, hanging onto the overhead bar with a French teacher on one side of him and an irritable-looking high school girl on the other side. Alexander is at the front of the car, calling attendance to make sure all the kids are in attendance. John thinks it's funny that he's doing this, considering that there are twenty-one kids present in the subway car (John counted) and all of them are wearing red, white, and blue Liberty High Debate Team t-shirts.

Lafayette is talking his ear off in French, and while John's absorbing it all, he's glad Laf is leaving him no room in the conversation to respond. He can't stop watching Alexander. Ever since Alex moved in with him ("ever since," he thinks, as though it's been a lifetime), he's started noticing tiny, adorable things about Alex. He plays with his hair when he's excited or nervous or both. When he needs to speak loudly, he rises up a little bit on the balls of his feet, as though that will help. He doesn't just take notes on his arm, though the tattoo glove is back in full force today - John has caught glimpses of them on his stomach and once witnessed Alex write down an idea on his shin, one leg crossed over the other.

He realizes Lafayette's patter has dropped off into silence, and when he turns to see what made the man stop talking, Laf has an irritatingly knowing twinkle in his eye.

"What're you smiling about?" John demands, sounding harsher than he hoped. "Sorry, that came out wrong. But still."

Lafayette just shakes his head, still twinkling and smiling at John. "This is going to be an exceptional day," he says. Which doesn't really explain anything, but whatever. They're almost to their stop.

John goes back to watching Alexander as he finishes up attendance. Alex catches him looking and grins at John, a big goofy grin, but genuine all the same.

John grins back, feeling a blush starting in his cheeks.

_Exceptional day, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: we meet Thomas Jefferson, and he's not exactly what we were expecting.
> 
> Comments? Let me know! They're my favorite part, and I love reading them.


	7. Miscalculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miscalculation (n.) - an act of miscalculating; an error or misjudgment.  
> "While striking up a conversation - and an argument - with the man in line, Alexander made a grievous miscalculation about his identity."

Alex wasn't expecting the very first person he saw when he got inside Richmond Academy (the snooty school, the enemy school, the rival school) to be his friend from college. But there's James Madison, hovering shyly to the side of the door and checking teams off on a clipboard as they walk in.

"Liberty High, reporting for duty. Twenty-one competitors, one advisor, and these two." Alexander jerks his head toward John and Laf, who are giving the kids a pep talk as they all pile into the auditorium. James glances up from his clipboard.

"You guys are all set. How've you been, Alexander?"

John, finished with the pep talk, nudges him. "Y'all know each other?"

"We do," Alex replies. "James Madison, John Laurens. We were friends for awhile in college. I can't believe you teach here now! Anyway, we sorta lost touch, but  _man_ , James and I wrote the most kickass presentations together. You remember that one, first semester?"

James smiles, a fleeting little thing. "I sure do. Reminisce later, okay, Hamilton? There's a line behind you."

Alexander glances back behind him.  _Shit, there is a line._ "Shit, sorry, sorry. See you later, okay, Madison?"

James nods.

"So," John says, falling into step with Alexander as they move into the crowded auditorium, "Madison works for Richmond Academy?"

"Mm-hm. He's going down."

Alexander is immediately rewarded for this sentiment by a bright grin and a prolonged laugh from John. He's got his hair all tied up in some complicated knot at the base of his neck, but there are curly little strands escaping and frizzing up all over his head, curling around his ears and across his forehead, and they shake when he laughs. Alex, too, shakes when John laughs, a shiver that overtakes him from the base of his spine, reminding him just how much he'd like to kiss John right now.

Richmond has a damn nice auditorium. John, Laf, and Alex all hang back, letting the kids file into their seats before situating themselves at the end of the row behind the two that are filled with Liberty High students. They're bringing in a speaker - Alexander doesn't remember who, but he knows the kids are excited - to kick things off. Debaters are still filing in through both of the auditorium doors.

John is still talking to Lafayette, but Alex doesn't tune in to their conversation. He's a little preoccupied. Maybe John doesn't notice that he and Alex are both using the armrest, that if either of them just moved their hand a bit, they'd be holding hands. Alex notices. He occupies his mind by chatting with Elisa, who's sitting directly in front of him. She turns all the way around and rests her arms on the back of her seat.

"You nervous?" he asks. Elisa laughs.

"Nah. Debate isn't scary. Just fun. Why, are you nervous?"

"Course I am!" Alex says. "Not _that_ nervous, given that you guys are all beyond good enough to kick ass."

"Hey, language, Hamilton," Elisa reprimands him.

"Sorry, sorry. You guys are all beyond  _great_ enough to kick ass. Hey, I'm gonna try and find a bathroom. Keep an eye on these jokers for me, would ya?" He tilts his head to indicate John and Lafayette. Elisa salutes him with two fingers.

"Will do, boss."

 

John's dimly aware that he and Lafayette are having a conversation. More dimly, he's aware that Alexander and one of the girls on the team - Elisa, he's pretty sure - are also having a conversation. Most of the channels in his brain are fuzzed out right now, replaced with the feeling of almost,  _almost_ holding hands with Alexander Hamilton broadcasting on all frequencies.

Alexander gets up with the brief explanation of "bathroom," and John's brain returns to its regularly scheduled programming.

 

_[To: Wham Bam Cam] holy CRAP cam i ship it so much_

_[From: Wham Bam Cam] Elisa what are you talking about? I thought you were at a debate tournament????_

_[To: Wham Bam Cam] i AM AND A-HAM AND HISTORY TEACHER LAURENS ARE BEING HELLA CUTE U DONT UNDERSTAND_

_[From: Wham Bam Cam] OMG What are they doing?_

_[To: Wham Bam Cam] armrest-sharing. CUTE af. ok g2g cuz it's starting but i'll tell u all about it later_

_[From: Wham Bam Cam] You'd better. ;)_

 

Alexander finds himself waiting in a long line outside the bathroom, just behind a bored-looking guy in a Richmond Academy Debate t-shirt. He looks familiar, _too_ familiar, but Alex can't quite place it, so he disregards it. Instead, being sociable and also not wanting to waste his time being silent in line, he strikes up a conversation.

"Home team, huh?" Alex asks, gesturing to the guy's shirt.

He looks up at Alexander, blinking, before allowing himself to develop a friendly half-smile. "Which means you must be the competition. You from Liberty? Don't answer that, I don't want to hate you on principle."

Alexander snorts. "So you an advisor?"

"Yeah, the one and only advisor to the Richmond team. Tom."

"Alexander."

They make pleasant, if shallow, conversation as the line moves at a crawl. They aren't even inside the bathroom yet. For such a fancy-ass school, you'd think they'd have more than one faculty bathroom open, but no. Either way, Alexander and Tom have plenty of time to talk. They get on the topic of practices with the kids, because of course they do.

"Yeah, well, it's always rough having to argue against what you believe in," Alex agrees. "Like, I make the kids do both sides, always, but even I hate it."

"Ugh, I  _know_ ," Tom agrees. "This one tournament, one of mine had to argue  _against_ strict interpretation of the Constitution, can you believe that?"

Alex freezes, squinting at Tom (who still looks familiar in a way he can't place). "Wait, sorry, say that again?"

Tom doesn't appear to notice anything amiss. "I just said it sucks having to argue against stuff like strict interpretation of the Constitution."

"Living document," Alex says, flat.

"Come again?"

"Constitution is, by definition, a living document. Intended to grow, change, be added to and re-interpreted as needed.  _That's_ what original intent was. You can't fit every possible policy decision into a document with only five thousand words."

Tom raises an eyebrow. "So you just don't give a shit what the founders of our nation would have wanted?"

Alex scoffs, saying, "The founders thought slavery was cool and would flip out if you showed them a garbage disposal. Pardon me if I don't want them making decisions about women's reproductive health or whether I should be allowed to own an AK-47."

"Uh, too late, because both of those have answers. Right to bear arms. Second amendment."

"Those were  _muskets_ at best. If you wanna buy a musket, go right the hell ahead! When's the last time someone shot up a school with a musket?"

"And as for abortion-"

"I literally didn't even say abortion though, I said women's reproducti-"

"Fundamental rights, among them being  _life_ -"

"That's from the Declaration of Independence, genius, try again."

As the crawling line finally transports them into the bathroom, they quiet their argument so as not to be  _those two weirdos arguing at the top of their lungs in a high school bathroom_. However, there's little point, as they are still  _those two weirdos arguing in whispers in a high school bathroom._

It's not that Alexander doesn't believe everyone is entitled to their opinion. He encourages diversity of opinion and forming one's own beliefs in his classes and with the debate kids, and he does his level best not to interject his own beliefs into their discussions (though it always helps that he and the kids tend to be on the same page). But this guy is just wrong, as far as Alex is concerned, and it's not like he's in any danger of corrupting this dude's opinion-forming years.

For the second time today, and with greater satisfaction, Alex thinks,  _he's going down._

"Well have fun killing babies," Tom spits as they emerge into the hallway.

"Oh, says the man who condones school shootings."

They argue their way down the hallway until Alexander spots Lafayette rounding the corner. He stops in his tracks, waving to Laf. To his surprise, Tom does too, both the stop and the wave. Alexander faces Tom, stunned.

"Wait, you know Laf?"

"Uh,  _you_ know Laf?"

"Yeah, we both teach at-"

Lafayette is close enough now to wave at both of them. He grabs Alexander by the arm. "Pardon, can I just talk to my friend for a moment?"

Tom spreads his arms. "No problem. I'll be in the auditorium. Come find me after, alright?"

Laf nods. Despite them being alone in the hall now, he still drags Alex off to the side. Alex loosens his arm from Lafayette's grip, still confused about what just happened. "Dude, Laf, what the hell was that about?"

"I thought you said you would not get in my way," Laf says.

"That... what? I did say that, yeah, but that was in the context of..." Alexander's voice gets quieter and trails off altogether as he realizes. "Oh holy shit. Lafayette, for the love of God,  _please_ tell me that man was not Thomas Jefferson."

"That man was  _exactly_ Thomas Jefferson."

"Dude! Seriously? He's a complete asshole!"

"I like him," Laf retorts.

"Do you know what we were just arguing about? Constitutional interpretation! Oh my god, Laf, he's such a dick. Tell me you won't start bringing this guy out for drinks on Fridays. My blood pressure couldn't handle it."

"I do not know how you managed it," Laf says, already in the stage where he finds the whole situation funny. "I have never once argued with him."

"He's a dick."

"You must admit, at the very least, that he's cute."

Alex considers it. "Yeah, he is cute." He pictures Tom's - Thomas Jefferson's - face. Cute, yes. Dark-skinned, wild-haired, eerily familiar... It takes him a few seconds, but Alexander bursts out laughing. "Of course you'd say he's cute, Laf! Holy shit, how didn't I realize this before?"

"Hm?"

"He looks just like you!"

"Does not."

"Bro. You guys look  _so_ alike. C'mon, I swear. Let's go get John's opinion. He'll say the same thing." Alexander starts down the hallway, Lafayette catching up in only a few strides. Damn his long legs.

"Of course John will say the same," Laf groans. "He will agree with whatever you say, or you will agree with him. You two are driving me up to the ceiling... is that what it is?"

Alex snorts. "'Driving me up the wall,' man. You almost got it."

 

The opening is almost over when Lafayette clambers back over John to get to his seat, Alexander in tow. "Took you long enough," John murmurs to Alex, grinning.

"Yeah, well, the line was long, and Lafayette's cute foreign exchange boy-"

"Thomas Jefferson?"

"Him! He's a complete asshole and he looks  _just_ like Lafayette!"

"So he's cute?" John whispers.

"That's what I said!" Alex returns. "Man, we are so on the same wavelength."

"It's like we're connected," John jokes. Alexander leans his head against John's to illustrate their connectedness, and in that moment John Laurens almost faints. He takes deep breaths and doesn't move his head until Alex does.

Throughout the day, he follows Alexander around and around Richmond Academy, watching the kids debate, listening to their stories over lunch, giving them pep talks in between every round, waiting anxiously for the postings after round one. Round two. Round three. John finds himself wishing he knew the kids better as he watches Alexander effortlessly connect with each one of them. He knows who to hug, who to fist-bump, who to comfort, who to tease, which words to use, which names to use, as John trips over the blur of red, white, and blue. He almost forgets that the debate team's only met four or five times this year. Alex has only known these kids for a month.

_He's only known me for a month and I'm already in love with him._

John wonders if maybe Alexander is not just electric, but an electromagnet. If being around him for a prolonged period of time must inevitably lead to an attraction, to a bond, to something  _more_ forming with Alex. He almost hopes it isn't. Not because he thinks the students are in love with Alex - just in admiration, in friendship, because  _damn_ , love would be both weird and illegal. But it would be a little ray of hope if Alex wasn't like this around everyone, just him, if what they had was special.

They pass Lafayette, walking down the hall arm in arm with a man who looks a good deal like him. Must be Thomas Jefferson. Lafayette catches John's eye, glances back and forth between him and Alexander, and winks. John rolls his eyes.

_Yeah right. I'm just lucky that Alex says I'm his best friend._

John would die before admitting it, but a few days ago, an ad for cheap apartments for rent caught his eye in the newspaper. They looked decent, even nice considering how affordable they were. He threw out that section of the paper before Alexander could find it.

 

Maybe twenty times throughout the day, Alexander almost reaches out and takes John's hand, or kisses him, or makes some other impulsive romantic gesture. If it were anybody else, he'd just go for it, consequences be damned. Alex has never been the guy who dances around an issue.

But this is John, so just going for it, consequences be damned, will lose him his best friend in the world. Alexander settles for knocking elbows or throwing an arm around his shoulders. Nothing that could be misconstrued. Nothing that sends shocks coursing through his nerves to the point where he can't focus (mostly). Nothing that a close platonic best friend wouldn't do.

Though perhaps a close platonic best friend wouldn't relish every opportunity to be close to John, to spend just a little more time with him. 

Alexander saw a newspaper on the kitchen table a few mornings ago, before John got up, trumpeting an ad for cheap apartments. He ignored it. When he returned to the kitchen after plugging his phone in, it was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying so far! Comments and questions are the best part for me, so let me know your thoughts!


	8. Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lull (v.) - To calm or send to sleep, typically with soothing sounds or movements.  
> "The exhaustion of the long day coupled with the sounds of the TV soon lulled the pair to sleep."

"Man," Alexander groans, sagging against the wall by the door, "it has been a long-ass day."

"I concur," says John as he locks the front door behind him. "Whose idea was it to go out for dinner, again?"

"Whose idea do you think it was? Had to be-"

"Nicola," they both say, same time, same tone. John dissolves into a fit of giggles. He's always been the kind of person who turns into a puddle of laughing gas and nerves when he gets really tired, and boy, is he really tired. He was up early, and he's been go-go-go all day, trailing Alexander and the kids throughout the debate tournament and then to dinner, all twenty-three of them (no Laf - he went home with Cute Asshole Thomas Jefferson after the tournament).

Alexander doesn't show any discernible differences in personality when tired. Then again, given his sleep schedule, he's probably always tired. John doesn't pretend he doesn't notice the dark circles under Alex's eyes, the sheer volume of caffeine the man takes in on any given day. Sometimes, late at night, John goes into Alex's room, makes him turn off the light and curl up on his air mattress, unplugs the light for good measure, and waits until Alex's breathing evens.

He has a sneaking suspicion that Alexander fakes it, but John has no clue what else to do.

"God, I'm kinda tired," Alex says, stretching his arms over his head. John's shocked and pleased that he's admitting this fact, open and honest about having human weaknesses just like everybody else.

"So sleep, dummy," John replies.

"Nah."  _Well, there goes that plan._

"At least put some pajamas on," John says. Negotiating. He points to Alexander's t-shirt, the red, white, and blue of Liberty High. "I didn't want to say it, but these shirts are horrible. Hurt my eyes to look at."

Alex grins. "I dunno, it really suits you, bro." He tugs playfully at the hem of John's own t-shirt, and John feels a blush welling up towards his face from somewhere deep within him. He's powerless to stop the blood rushing to his cheeks, his forehead, his neck, when he realizes how close Alexander is to him. He swallows and wills his face not to heat up but it's far too late. He's confronted with his careening imagination, already planning out how it will feel to lean in and kiss his best friend.

He doesn't do it, of course. He's not an idiot. But the imagining is enough. It must show on his face, between his blush and the little smile that John has to tug back into neutral, because Alexander steps away looking altogether too flustered for John's liking.

_Shit,_ John thinks.  _I can't do stuff like that. He'll figure out how I feel about him and then where will I be?_

It's a rhetorical thought, but he answers it anyway, thinking,  _I'll be alone in a Staples._

Being as he is a tired puddle of laughing gas and nerves, this thought tickles John to the point where he bursts out laughing. Alexander scrutinizes him, John unable to stop laughing, before joining him in a fit of giggles. They laugh until they cannot stand anymore, and then they sit down on the floor, laughing in the little entryway to John's apartment, shoes still on, coats still dangling haphazardly from the coatrack.

"Hey," Alex says, pausing in his laugh, "we should do something."

"Alex, I'm exhausted."

"No, so am I. That's why we should do something. Like, I dunno, pick a movie on Netflix and make popcorn or something."

John immediately feels his lungs filling up with questions, words poking at the edges of his ribs.  _What about the essay series you work on obsessively every night? What if I'm about to fall asleep at any second? Where the hell did this idea come from? When did we get so domestic? Do we even like the same kind of movies?_

But this suggestion is so rare for Alexander, perhaps brought on by a lack of sleep or residual adrenaline from the day, that John knows better than to question right away. Smarter to accept before Alex can withdraw his offer. Ask questions later.

"Sounds perfect!" John agrees. "Condition the first - whoever gets to pick the movie has to make the popcorn. Condition the second - I don't want to do either of those things."

"Great," Alex says, "because I make a mean microwave popcorn."

Half an hour later, after Alexander made popcorn and they butted heads over which movie to watch, they're comfortably settled on John's tiny sofa covered in every blanket they could find (which is a truly ridiculous number - John hoards the things). John has to shove over some of Alex's books, which have been spreading themselves out throughout the apartment. His coffeemaker appeared on the counter a week ago, and John discovered a few new towels in the closet where he keeps them all.

He doesn't mind. He the-opposite-of-minds. The longer it takes Alex to move out of his apartment, the better.

Right now it's seeming like Alex is unlikely to move at all. As the saturated beginning of Legally Blonde flickers past them on the TV screen, Alexander is motionless save for the occasional reach for a gigantic handful of popcorn. Between the two of them, Alex and John are keeping up a semi-constant commentary, interrupted by stuffing their faces with popcorn and yawns. John feels like the world is on pause, like the only time in the universe that's passing is doing so right here.

He likes this feeling. He could live in this feeling.

John is impressed with Alexander's ability to make him want to live at all.

 

Alexander can't remember the last time he's slept. He's certain he must have at some point, probably fell asleep in snatches in the past few nights and then woke up without remembering having shut his eyes in the first place. But still, he doesn't know when it would have happened, and for the most part he's replaced his blood with caffeine to keep his higher functions ticking along. This is why it doesn't surprise him that his eyes are getting harder to re-open every time he blinks.

He should be doing something else. He should be doing  _anything_ else. There are research papers to finish grading (they handed in their final copies on Thursday and holy  _crap_ are the Writers' Workshop kids brilliant). There are assignment sheets to edit (he has all of them typed up through late November but still, they can't all be perfect). There are essays to write, always (he's written twelve and doesn't plan on stopping). There's something to write. He shouldn't stop writing.

But here he is, crammed onto a couch watching Legally Blonde and eating popcorn. Here he is, accidentally slipping closer to sleep and on-purpose inching his way closer to John Laurens. He feels like somebody put him on pause, like time is swirling by around him but he is still and calm and almost-almost-almost leaning against John's side. Maybe it won't be so bad if he falls asleep here.

Maybe he'll have dreams that aren't about death and sickness and floodwater and tearing, swirling winds.

He's impressed with John's ability to make him stop. Hell, to make him  _want_ to stop.

Alexander falls asleep only seconds after his head finally makes contact with John's shoulder, and his guilt is still in the pit of his stomach, but his last thought before the calming sway of sleep pulls him under is that  _this was a great idea._

 

No matter how sleepy he is, John is kept awake long after the movie is over by the effort of keeping still. Every time he feels a muscle jump, he winces, frightened that it will wake Alexander up. This may be the first sleep he's gotten in days (which is terribly unhealthy - John thinks he really ought to force Alex to go to the doctor or get some melatonin or something).

When his arm is asleep and he can't take the staticky tingle any longer, John risks stretching his arm out.

Alexander continues breathing evenly, stomach rising and falling, as though John never moved. It shouldn't really be surprising that he's a heavy sleeper, given how little opportunity he has for shuteye.

Slowly, still scared of disturbing his sleeping friend, John rearranges himself until he's comfortable, curled around and alongside Alexander with the blankets layered over them. He takes a second to relish this feeling, of laying down with Alex sleeping by his side, comparable to a large teddy bear as Alex's arms come up around him and he, in his sleep, snuggles closer. As with many moments with Alex, John is overwhelmed with the idea that this may never happen again, so he ought to enjoy every second of it.

His imagination leaps in where his real-life self has failed and failed again.  _Kisshimkisshimkisshim. But I can't. But I want to._

"Alex," John murmurs. "You asleep?"

No response save the steady thrum of his breaths.

"Alex," he says a little louder.

Nothing.

"Alex," he says at normal conversation volume.

Nada.

Satisfied, feeling courage course through him, John presses a tiny light kiss to Alexander's forehead. He shuts his eyes immediately after, trying to fall asleep for plausible deniability. The day catches up with him and he manages it after only a few minutes, steady with the rhythm of Alex's breath. Perhaps that is the thing that makes him drift off, in the end, the knowledge that Alexander is alive and well next to him, breathing in a rhythm he can only achieve by being asleep.

He's still there when John wakes up. And he's still there when John, sleepy and pleased and not fully processing the world yet, tugs him closer in the morning sunlight and goes right back to sleep.

 

_[To: Monsieur Lafayette] good morning! this is an emergency text_

_[From: Monsieur Lafayette] My dear Alexander, I am still at Thomas Jefferson's house_

_[To: Monsieur Lafayette] is the asshole asleep?_

_[From: Monsieur Lafayette] Oui, the asshole is asleep. And he isn't an asshole_

_[To: Monsieur Lafayette] great so you can talk. at what point does a friendship cross over from Just Dudes Being Bros to being kinda gay. asking for a friend_

_[From: Monsieur Lafayette] What has John done_

_[To: Monsieur Lafayette] we were watching legally blonde last night and we both fell asleep on the couch and when i woke up he was legit snuggling me but he was still asleep so like?????? he can't control that, he's asleep????????????_

_[From: Monsieur Lafayette] Why do you not just ask him_

_[To: Monsieur Lafayette] baaaaaaaad idea. no. nope all over that. i am not fucking this up for myself. i'm not doing that to him._

_[From: Monsieur Lafayette] You two are horrid. I have to go the asshole just woke up_

_[To: Monsieur Lafayette] so u ADMIT he's an asshole!_

_[From: Monsieur Lafayette] Talk to John Laurens_

 

Alexander Hamilton is cooking breakfast. It's closer to lunchtime, now, but in the short time he's been here, the cooking of breakfast has become a tradition and he'd prefer to keep it going. Which is weird, because normally Alex is a very break-that-tradition sort of guy. Maybe it's because this one is a tradition he created with John.

And speaking (or rather thinking) of, John comes wandering in bleary-eyed, almost running into the counter. (Though granted, it's harder not to run into the counter in John's minuscule kitchen.)

"Morning, sunshine," Alexander jokes.

_God_ , he'd intended it as a joke, but sunshine really is the right word to describe him. As he registers the real world, with Alex cooking breakfast and sunlight in the room and bare feet on the cold tile floor, he breaks into a grin. Alexander thinks again of counting all of John's freckles, wonders if he should have done so instead of falling asleep last night.

_You should have,_ Alex's brain supplies.  _Would have been more useful than falling asleep._

With the morning sun, any traces of residual comfort, any traces of on-pause feeling of last night have fled back into the shadowiest corners of Alex's head. Was it nice? Yes. It was so, so nice. He recognizes a deep desire yanking at him to spend every night curled up with John. But even beyond his knowledge that friends don't do that, there's the weighty guilt of wasting so much time pulling him in the opposite direction.

He's familiar with the guilt of not doing enough. He's unfamiliar with the long string of things he feels for John (he boils them down to love in his head, and that feels mostly right, but too small of a word to hold it all). They say better the devil you know.

_Better the devil I know after breakfast_ , Alex thinks.

They make small chatter over their food as the clock ticks past noon, talking about classes and kids and the upcoming election. The conversation turns to Lafayette and Asshole Thomas Jefferson.

"Yeah, I can't imagine how he does it," John comments, leaning back in his chair. "Just go up to a guy and flirt? With, like, confidence? Hah."

"So what's your strategy, then?" Alex asks through a mouthful of omelette.

John shrugs. "Don't have one. Usually I'll end up trying to say cute shit but I'll just make friends with them by accident. But then, hey! New friend, right?"

Alex snorts, not sure what to make of that, given that he's in exactly the same situation. With John. "Well, not everything's about charming the pants off every guy you meet."

"Funny, that's usually my goal."

"Shut up, man," Alex says, with another puff of a laugh.

"So what, you just pull a Lafayette and flirt until the pants are sufficiently off?" John asks.

Alexander shakes his head, feeling dangerously close to revealing the devil he doesn't know so well. But he's Alexander Hamilton, dammit, which means he doesn't quite get when to shut up. "Yeah, I try," he says. "I can do it just fine until I'm really into the person, and then I just start worrying too much. It's kinda the same thing with you though - when I really like a guy, which doesn't happen often, I just end up making friends."

John groans. "It's painful, isn't it?"

Alex tries to physically shut himself up. "You have no idea," he returns. He's tempted to put a hand over his mouth. He does the next best thing: pushes back his chair from the breakfast table a little too fast, puts his plate in the sink, makes a vague work-related excuse - but it's true, there's always work, he's got so much to do - and shuts himself in his room. He allows a few seconds, no more, to collect himself.

_You almost fucked it up, Alex. And then where would you be? You'd lose him._

_As if you even really have him now. It's pity, it's always pity. The orphaned kid, the charity case, the scholarship student. The starving college kid, the broke TA, the teacher evicted from his apartment. There's so much work to be done._

_They don't pity you when you're working._

Alexander writes and writes and forgets to cook dinner and tries very hard not to think about John Laurens, smiling like the sun and stealing his markers and hugging him, unconscious of how much Alex wanted to stay in those arms forever. He'd almost rather be out there, away from this room and this air mattress and these cardboard boxes that get emptier every day, but there's writing to do. He's got to work. No one pities you when you're working.

 

_[To: HERCULES MULLIGAN]_ _Alexander is acting weird._

_[From: HERCULES MULLIGAN] when is he not?_

_[To: HERCULES MULLIGAN] Weird-er. We were both really tired last night so we watched Legally Blonde and then we ended up sleeping together and he made breakfast like usual but now he's locked himself up in his room and he hasn't come out for dinner?_

_[To: HERCULES MULLIGAN] *FELL ASLEEP TOGETHER holy shit. I didn't do anything untoward with Alexander Hamilton. These would be very different text messages otherwise._

_[From: HERCULES MULLIGAN] how are u guys both human disasters? ok look here's what ur gonna do. ur gonna go knock on alex's door and ur gonna talk to him like a normal goddamn person._

_[To: HERCULES MULLIGAN] Well if you're not going to be helpful..._

_[From: HERCULES MULLIGAN] i hate u guys. see u both on monday_

_[To: HERCULES MULLIGAN] See you tomorrow, man._

John turns off his phone and picks up one of Alex's books. Talking to him like a normal goddamn person isn't as easy as Herc made it out to be, especially with Alex in what sounds like a work frenzy, frantic laptop-clattering only increasing in speed and volume as the minutes tick by.

"It's painful, isn't it?" John says aloud to himself, flipping through the pages. Some massive biography about an American founding father.

"You have no idea," John answers himself, resigned to a night without Alexander by his side. Funny how he got used to it after just one night. Funny how he wants to spend all his nights that way. John sighs and starts reading.

_You have no idea._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments comprise most of my motivation for this story, so lemme know your thoughts, and thanks for sticking with me so far!


	9. Nonplussed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nonplussed (adj.) - Surprised and confused so much that one is unsure how to react.  
> "Alex and John's coworkers were nonplussed by their complete inability to communicate like regular people."

Aaron Burr doesn't dislike the new English teacher, not at all. They're friendly with each other, always saying hi when they pass in the hallways and nodding their understanding as they refuel on coffee. One might call them friends if one didn't know that Aaron thinks of him as nothing more than a pleasant acquaintance, and he's sure the reverse applies as well.

But my  _god_ , does he wish Alexander Hamilton would get the hell out of his classroom. The man has not stopped speaking since he stepped through the door and Aaron is hard-pressed to believe he'll quit anytime soon. Not a single word in Aaron's head could find passage between Alexander's, so Aaron doesn't bother trying to ask what he's doing here or when he plans on leaving. Hamilton is kinda like a cat in that way: comes and goes when he pleases. Cats, too, are impossible to hold a decent conversation with.

After another run-on sentence, the point lost halfway through, Hamilton takes a deep breath. Aaron interjects, "Alexander, pardon me for asking, but why are you in my classroom?"

Alexander blinks. "Because John's being weird and Laf and Herc will just pester me about John if I go talk to them. As I was saying, I really don't understand why you're so afraid of having an opinion on the district shake-up, it's-"

Aaron settles himself into grading worksheets. He doesn't tell Alexander that half his reason for not expressing his views to him is that it's impossible to get a word in edgewise. It doesn't seem to matter that he's not listening to what Alex is saying - the man keeps on talking until the morning bell rings, at which point he cuts himself off, says, "Bye, Burr!", and half-walks, half-runs out the door.

No, Aaron Burr doesn't dislike the new English teacher, not at all. But if he's going to be in here every morning, Aaron can only hope that John (whom he only vaguely knows) stops being weird as soon as possible. After all, he's never really been a cat person.

 

Eliza Schuyler normally gets students in her office. She's decorated the whole place in pastels, pink and blue and yellow, because the rest of this school is white cinderblock and there's got to be at least one bright spot. The kids, too, end up as bright spots, sitting across the round table from her and telling her about gymnastics team sniping or Dad walking out again or their top three picks for college. She prides herself on her empathy, her ability to be versatile and try to understand anybody.

Still, she's not used to having other teachers across the table.

"Good morning, Eliza," says a morose John Laurens, chin propped in his palms, elbows resting on the edge of the table.

"Good morning to you too. You know I generally provide guidance to our students, right?"

"Yeah."

It seems as though that's all he's going to say. Eliza wonders if this is about Alexander Hamilton. Ever since Angelica introduced them, she and Alex have been talking almost every night (if sending each other long, random strings of emojis can be counted as "talking"). She'd like to count him as her friend, and he's already expressed that she's his. Still, their emoji-conversations have taken a bit of a backseat to her observations of him and John Laurens. The two of them are somewhere between rom-com and soap opera, and Eliza often feels like the audience member screaming "just kiss already!" at her TV.

Regardless of what's got John Laurens in a funk, Eliza's determined to help him. She reaches across the table, pulls one of his hands from beneath his chin, and places her own softly over it. "Talk to me," she says. "What's up?"

"I've just had a weird weekend," John says. "I went to the debate tournament on Saturday - we won, by the way."

"That's awesome!" Eliza interjects. She's never had a real interaction with most of the debate kids, but she knows about the team from Alex. "So the Liberty Bells are one-and-oh, then?"

"We sure are," John agrees, flickering with the hint of a smile. "So yeah, that was Saturday. We came home and we were exhausted, so-"

"We?"

"Alexander and I. And for some reason he suggested putting on a movie? I wasn't about to argue, I mean, why would I? So we watched Legally Blonde and fell asleep on the couch and everything was really nice."

Eliza smiles and squeezes John's hand once. There's more coming, she feels it in the air, but it won't work if she tries to pull it out of him. She waits patiently and he pushes the words into the middle of the table.

"And then he was weird on Sunday. Really weird. Like, shut-himself-in-his-room-to-work-all-day weird. I texted Herc about it but he wasn't any help at all. So we sort of didn't talk at all on Sunday? Which was terrible. Honestly, you think it'll be a relief without him talking non-stop but everything just feels scary quiet. And he made me breakfast this morning but we didn't eat together, and we didn't even sit by each other on the train. I don't know who's avoiding who at this point but I just want it to be  _over_."

Eliza squeezes his hand again. "I take it you don't want me to say 'just talk to him,' then?"

"Anything but that."

"Why, though? What's the very worst thing that could happen?" Eliza uses this tactic sometimes when people are panicking about their futures. The very worst thing that could happen is, of course, so outlandishly bad that the probable outcomes don't seem half so scary by comparison.

"I try to talk to him about this or that and it comes out how much I love him and he wants nothing to do with me ever again."

"That's the  _absolute_ worst?" Eliza prods. "What if, while you were talking to him, you got struck by lightning and died?"

John shrugs, nonchalant about the possibility of a lightning strike-induced death. This troubles Eliza, but she changes course. One issue at a time. "Or what if, while you two were talking, a garbage truck tipped over right next to you and you both got covered in garbage?"

A little smile appears on John's face, and Eliza presses her advantage. "And then after the garbage truck would come the one carrying manure."

The smile grows. "That would be worse," John concedes. "After those two trucks, I'm sure, will come the wildlife rescue truck with skunks on board. Though the real question is why all of these trucks are tipping over right next to us."

Eliza shrugs. "That's just the nature of The Worst That Could Happen. Look, if you were to talk to him - this is all in theory, of course, given that you might be assaulted by stinky trucks if you try it in real life - but if you did talk to him. What would you want to know?"

John shrugs. He's looking a little more cheerful now. "About what you'd expect. Whether it's mutual. Whether he's cool with being my friend even if it's not. Why we keep holding our conversations in the middle of the road with all these trucks going by."

Laughing, Eliza starts to respond to him because this is good, this is progress, but she's cut off by the morning bell. John pushes himself away from her table and departs with a wave. Eliza retreats to grab her computer and get some work done, turning over John Laurens's weekend in her mind. She's just watched a new episode of her favorite show, only this time, she actually got some dialogue.

She wonders whether she'll need to come back in a later episode, or whether they'll manage to work it out themselves. Much as she enjoys being a part of this ridiculous soap-opera narrative, she hopes it's the latter.

 

Hercules Mulligan has never been a Monday person. He spends his weekends out late and up early, so no matter how much he loves his job, first-period phys ed on a Monday is always rough. It's rough on the kids, too, he knows, some of them especially. Lila works two jobs on the weekends and she's asleep on her feet most Monday mornings. Adi has a whole host of medical problems and the poor guy keeps forgetting his inhaler. Besides, today he has his freshmen first, and they never get enough sleep.

"Just two laps for warm-up today!" Herc shouts. He has to shout everything in this gym or it gets lost in the echo. "We'll do some stretching and then you people can vote on what we do. Monday morning gift from me to you."

A sleepy cheer bounces off the rafters and Herc turns up the music as the kids begin their slow jog around the room. He typically does Top 40 stuff, but there's a request sheet taped to the wall by the closet with all the tennis rackets and basketballs and whatnot, and everybody who finishes their warm-up laps can request a song. Ever since he introduced that rule, no one's shirked their warm-up.

Herc's phone, always in his pocket in case of emergency, buzzes. Alexander.

 _[From: The English Department]_ _herc bro help me!_

_[To: The English Department] no texting during class my dude._

_[From: The English Department] it's fine, they're just doing a grammar test._

_[To: The English Department] i s2g ham if this is about john laurens..._

_[From: The English Department] it might be_

_[To: The English Department] u two are literally gon kill me someday. ok here's what ur gonna do. ur gonna march right the hell up to him and ur gonna say "hey john, look. a couple of our friends think u might be... like... into me. i think we should talk about that because i value our friendship and blah blah blah." idk u gotta make it sound like something u would say. and then u figure out how he feels about u without having to put urself out there and u can still be friends if he's not into u._

_[From: The English Department] HERCULES MULLIGAN, YOU ARE A GOD AMONG MEN. i should go now tho._ _talk to you later. you're the greatest man ever to walk this earth._

Hercules shoves his phone back in his pocket and wonders whether Alex is actually going to do that. He feels a little bit bad, given that John is his friend, too, but it's pretty much a foolproof strategy. It's how he got his first girlfriend and, subsequently, how she got her first girlfriend - he was kind of proud of her, actually.

Noelle finishes her laps and jogs over to the request sheet. She's written down CALL ME MAYBE in all capital letters. Hercules chuckles. Whatever happens, it's gonna be one of the better Mondays he's had. He plays Call Me Maybe and sings along and laughs when the kids do too.

His phone doesn't buzz again throughout the rest of class.

 

Monsieur Lafayette is in the middle of conjugating  _aimer_ with his French I students when his phone buzzes on his desk. He ignores it. A few minutes later, during _penser_ , it buzzes again. He ignores it. It goes off for a third time during _aiser_. Quentin raises his hand.

"Oui, Quentin?"

"Anglais, sil vous plait?"

"Oui," Lafayette agrees.

"I think someone's trying to text you," Quentin points out. The class shudders with a collective giggle.

"Je sais, merci."

"But what if it's important?" Gloria asks. The others nod their heads, trying for solemn and missing by a mile. Lafayette sighs. They could be right, after all.

"Okay, okay. Try  _parler_ ,  _jouer_ , and  _montrer_ on your own. I will only be a moment." Monsieur Lafayette retreats to his desk and checks his phone. He's received three new texts from John Laurens.

_[From: Laurens] Hey, Lafayette? Could I have some help?_

_[From: Laurens] Wait sorry you probably have a class right now._

_[From: Laurens] Could I have some help anyway?_

Lafayette sighs. He's always up for helping his friends, even in the middle of class, and he can feel expectant French I eyes on him just waiting for a reaction. He rolls his eyes and types out his reply.

_[To: Laurens] You should not be texting me during class mon ami_

_[From: Laurens] Military History's taking a test right now. It's cool._

_[To: Laurens] Quickly, then. What do you need_

_[From: Laurens] Hamilton help. He's been weird. He is weird. He hasn't stolen the markers yet today and we've been at school for hours._

_[To: Laurens] Perhaps he has forgotten_

_[From: Laurens] Alex doesn't forget. I just need to know what's wrong with him. I mean, I'd really like to know whether he's got feelings for me but at this point I'll take what I can get, you feel me?_

_[To: Laurens] When they write my obituary they will list you two as the causes of my death. Here is what you are going to do: you are going to tell your Alexander that some of our friends believe he has feelings for you (which is true, though I will not say who thinks what) and that, since you value your friendship with him, you would like to_

_[To: Laurens] How you say_

_[To: Laurens] Talk it out_

_[From: Laurens] Lafayette, my friend, you are a genius._ _Merci merci merci. I should go now, Gus just handed in his test. Bye!_

Lafayette turns his phone off and slips it into his bag so it won't be heard again during class. While he sort of feels bad plotting with John when Alexander is also one of his best friends, he picked up this strategy from Hercules and it hasn't failed him so far. It's how he figured out that Asshole Thomas Jefferson was into him (damn Alexander for making him think of him as Asshole Thomas Jefferson).

"So who was it?" Quentin asks.

"Francais, sil te plait."

"Uh... qui?"

"Un ami. Continuons, non?"

As he leads his class through the conjugations of  _-er_ verbs, Lafayette wonders whether John will actually go through with the plan. He wonders how Alex will react.  _You're a good friend, Lafayette_ , he tells himself. And it's true.

 

Alexander feels awkward sitting next to John on the train ride home.  _Not home, not home, John's apartment_ , he corrects himself. His corrections come often, but they're in vain. The apartment is his home now, more so than any apartment before. Where else is he at home enough to cook breakfast every day? Hell, where else would he even manage to eat that regularly?

He's mulling over what Hercules told him, trying to find flaws in the idea before he uses it. None are apparent to him. Is it a little bit of a weird thing to say, given that someone like John would never like him like that? Sure. But he can always put the blame for the thought on Herc, not himself, and if there's even a shadow of a chance, it'll be worth it. Alexander has never minded long odds. But when it's John Laurens on the line, even with an airtight plan, he's a little nervous.

They make it home okay and, as is their custom, dump their bags on the couch and toss their coats over the coatrack, alternating what they do so no one trips over anybody else. It's a custom they've silently developed, just a part of the rhythm of their daily life.

It's one of the thousands of reasons that Alex could name, if pressed, for why he doesn't want to find a new apartment.

"Hey, John," he says, making his voice casual, banishing any tentativeness he's feeling. If this is gonna work, he's gotta be cool about it.

"Hm?" John asks, one arm still in his hoodie as he pulls it off.

"I kinda wanted to talk to you about something. It's a little weird, to be honest, but it's important."

John throws his hoodie onto the coatrack, over Alex's. "Sounds perfect, actually. I was talking to Laf earlier and he said some stuff that made me think I should talk to you. Also a little weird, incidentally."

Alex swallows. Is this a bit of a curveball? Maybe. He'll have to see. "You wanna go first, man?" he asks.

"Nah, you can."

"Cool, alright. So according to Herc-"

 

There's a meeting going on in the LHS library, a few tables away from where the Liberty High Book Club is discussing  _Twelfth Night_. It's a small meeting, made up of two teachers and a curious librarian.

"You told John to do  _what?_ " Herc demands.

Laf looks at him curiously. "That thing you have told me about, the 'my friends believe you are into me' setup. I thought it might work for him, given that he is deeply in love with Alexander and Alexander is deeply in love with him."

Angelica Schuyler cuts in. "I cannot believe you two. This is some sitcom bullshit right here."

"I told Alex to do the same exact thing," Herc explains.

Laf bursts out laughing, and Herc follows him, both of them disrupting the mostly-quiet of the library. "Oh, mon ami," Laf says, "this is too good. Absolutely ridiculous. Maybe now they will finally get their issues sorted out, non?"

Angelica isn't laughing. "One can only hope so," she proclaims.

 

"Wait, so you're telling me-"

"He thought  _you_ were into  _me_."

"Dude, this is nuts. Cuz he thought you were into  _me_."

"Well, I mean, are you?"

"Are  _you?_ "

"Cuz like, look, I care about this friendship and-"

"So do I, man, no way I'd ever mess this up-"

"So you don't-"

"I, uh, nah, bro. That'd be... I mean, and you don't-"

"No, no, never! You're my friend, man."

"Hah. Yeah. Cool. Glad we got that sorted out."

"Back to normal?"

"Back to normal."

And it's just as they say, back to normal. John makes Alex eat dinner that night, though they end up ordering in, since they're both in a pizza mood. They lob pens at each other as they work, side-by-side, on grading various papers, worksheets, and quizzes. They're friends, best friends, and it's clear that nothing's gonna change that. John feels an immense relief, but it's taking a backseat to the fact that he'd almost gotten his hopes up.

_What a dumb thing to do. Obviously Alex isn't into me. Alexander Hamilton could have any man on Earth if he wanted._

Part of John thinks he would have preferred the lightning strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon my French (hah) - it's mostly Google Translate with a few things from Duolingo thrown in for good measure. There's a reason I take Spanish.
> 
> Comments are my favorite part, so let me know your thoughts on the story!


	10. Surreptitious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surreptitious (adj.) - kept secret, especially because it would not be approved of.  
> "John gave Alexander a surreptitious jab in the side when he wasn't paying attention, but Alex made sure to return the favor."

"Elisa, you don't understand, I  _can't_ try out for a play. Have you not met me before?"

On the other side of the lunch table, leaning into Nicola, Elisa starts laughing. "Cam, my darling, you don't have to try out. Oh my god, no, I would never do that to you!"

"The audience probably wouldn't be able to hear you," Nicola comments. Cam nods in agreement - she's started warming up to Nicola, even if she can be sort of bossy sometimes. Cam's never minded being bossed around now and again. And either way, it's hard not to warm up to anybody Elisa really likes. Harder when it's someone Elisa's dating.

"Like I said," Elisa reiterates through a gigantic bite of tacos al pastor. "I'd never make you try out. But just, like, paint sets or something!" She turns to Nicola. "This girl is an art whiz. I'm serious, she's insane with a paintbrush in her hand."

Cam covers her blush with her sweatshirt sleeves.

"Well regardless," Nicola says, "we're gonna need all the help we can get. Elisa and I have been organizing this since Monday and more hands are always appreciated. After all, not everybody's into Shakespeare."

"He was hard to understand even in the fifteen-hundreds," Elisa interjects.

"Still brilliant, though. I have a bunch of people who say they'll try out, but you never know. Plus there's lights, costuming, sets, sound. And we still don't have an advisor on top of all that. So yes, all the help we can get would be nice."

"I still don't understand why we need an advisor to do a play," Elisa grumbles. "Aren't they supposed to be encouraging student leadership and independence? But the second my girlfriend wants to put on a production of Much Ado About Nothing, it's all 'you need an adult to do anything.' Honestly."

"Why not ask A-Ham?" Cam asks. "He'd be up for anything."

"I was thinking of talking to Laurens, actually," Nicola cuts in, mouth still full of terrible school chicken nuggets. Cam wonders why none of her friends ever close their mouths when they're chewing. "After all," Nicola continues, "he wouldn't get in the way, and Shakespeare is more or less the definition of history. But A-Ham would be a fun advisor, I'll concede that."

Elisa, finally finishing off her tacos, glances up from her lunch bag with a mischievous glint in her eye. Cam knows before she opens her mouth just what that glint means. "Well, why not both?" Elisa asks.

"That could work," Nicola says with a slow nod before she freezes. "Wait, Lis, babe, is this about your plan to get our teachers together?"

Elisa shrugs. "It might be."

Nicola chews thoughtfully at another rubbery chicken nugget. Cam can almost feel Nicola thinking, the clanking vibrations of Nicola's whirring gears resonating in her chest. She can see why Elisa likes her. Elisa's always liked people who can think. Cam supposes she does too - it's why A-Ham is her favorite teacher, why she's friends with Elisa, why it didn't take her very long to warm up to Nicola or Elisa's other debate friends.

"I doubt it's going to work," Nicola says all of a sudden. "But I can't wait to see how it goes."

They make their pitch to Principal Washington five minutes before the last bell that day, having each secured special permission from their teachers to skip out early. Nicola does most of the pitching, with Elisa adding bits in and Cam watching as silent moral support. Principal Washington seems like a nice enough guy, but he's intimidating as all get-out. Cam will be staying out of his way, thank you very much.

Their story is that they both want their favorite teacher to advise the play and won't compromise, period, unless it's to have both of them. And two heads are better than one, right? And if one can't make it, we can still rehearse with the other one, right? They make no mention of their matchmaking efforts.

Unless Cam's mistaken about the silent amusement she's reading from Washington, he can tell anyway.

"Well thank you girls for the well-thought-out presentation," Washington says once Nicola and Elisa are finished. "I'll have to talk to Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Laurens, of course, but as far as I'm concerned they'd be the perfect advisors for Much Ado."

The bell rings, and he waves them out of his office with a smile. "Oh, and Cam?"

Cam startles at the sound of her name - she didn't know the principal knew her name - and turns back around. He's smiling, but only a little bit. Most of it's in his eyes. "Keep those two out of trouble, okay?" he says.

Cam nods and scurries out. She thinks she might warm up to Principal Washington, too.

 

John's first instinct when he learns, on Friday afternoon, that he's actually wanted to advise a production of Much Ado About Nothing is to grin and accept and high-five Alexander. Much less surprisingly, Alexander is also wanted to advise the same production.

John's second instinct is to pause himself and say, "Wait, shit. I've never actually read Much Ado About Nothing."

"Language, John," Washington says with half a smile.

He holds up his hands in self-defense. "Sorry. I picked it up from the kids."

This tickles both Alex and Washington.  _It wasn't that funny,_ John thinks, but he shares in their guffaws. Anything to see Alexander smile, hear Alexander laugh.

John wonders when he got this far gone for Alexander. What's so great about him, anyway? Charming and handsome, of course. But he talks too much and at too high a volume - all the better to hear the marvelous things he has to say, though. He's gonna give himself ink poisoning someday in the near future from the tattoo glove - which John has come to consider a work of Alexander-style art, ever changing and gaining new forms. He's blunt and often confusing and a great cook and a better cuddler and he makes big gestures when he speaks. He's so effortlessly likable that John isn't too surprised how much he likes him. He is, on the whole, not at all what John would have created had someone offered him the opportunity to build the ideal best friend, the ideal boyfriend.

Alexander Hamilton is too electric, too colorful, too  _alive_ for John's imagination to have come up with on its own no matter how long he was left to imagine. So it's a damn good thing for John that he's got the real thing right in front of him.

"First thing's first when we get home," Alex says, more to himself than to John or Washington. "I'm dragging out my copy of Much Ado and we're reading it together."

Washington raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you two lived together."

John opens his mouth to tell Washington that it's just temporary, 'til Alex finds an apartment, but he sees Alexander doing the same thing and shuts his mouth. The other man shuts his, too. They're at a momentary impasse.

"Yeah, we do," Alex confirms. "Makes the whole rent situation much easier."

John snorts. "He pays in breakfast."

"You'd prefer to go back to eating takeout every day?"

"Never."

Feeling Washington's eyes on him, John turns back to the principal, who's reclining back in his chair and smiling at him like John just offered to do the chores for a week, or told him he was gonna be a grandpa, or something similarly cute and familial. He fights the urge to duck his head in the warm fatherliness of it. It's weird as hell, having that directed at him. Nice, though.

"Well, son, I think you two'll be the perfect advisors. You're free to go," Washington announces, still grinning. It's unclear which of them he's talking to, but they both bid him goodbye and head back to their classrooms to collect their things and head home.

The markers are missing from John's classroom. If there's one thing that reassured him after the awkwardness of Monday, it was finding them missing again.

He and Alex sit together on the ride home, like always, and Alex gossips to him about a debate team relationship that just popped up ("debate date," John jokes, and then Alex says " _great_ debate date," and so it goes). They wonder together who's going to try out for Much Ado. Alex tries to explain the basic plot of the play to John, but he's confused by the dual sets of relationships, and wait, which one's Don Pedro again?

Alexander insists it'll make more sense when they read the play together.

_'Together' is a good word,_ John thinks as they get off at their stop. And while having to pull a "no homo" every time he looks at Alexander Hamilton isn't John's ideal situation, they're still together. In the end, what else matters?

 

"But til all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace," Alexander is saying, in the just-a-little-British voice he affects when he's being Benedick.

"Fifty bucks on him secretly being gay," John hisses, sending Alex into a fit of giggles. Somehow John reading Much Ado turned into both of them reading Much Ado which turned into them holding a two-man performance of Much Ado on the couch, the book balanced open between them. Alexander doesn't quite know how it happened, but he's having the time of his life. It helps that John agreed to play Beatrice.

Alex is also playing the Hero to John's Claudio. Lovers twice over. He's more than okay with that.

As he finishes his speech, he notices John watching him, not in the glazed-over way of zoning out, but in clear distraction. "Yo, your turn," he says. John is unresponsive, and he can't tell whether John's focused on him or through him.

"Hey, John. John." He pokes John in the side, the soft flesh under his ribs, and John jumps and squirms away from him and shudders, almost laugh-like. Alexander is all too familiar with that reaction. He has it himself. It means one thing: ticklish.

It's evident that John sees this knowledge blooming across his face, because he wiggles away from Alex. "Oh no you don't," he warns.

"You didn't tell me you're ticklish."

"I didn't see how that information could be- aaah! Hey! Stop it, man!" John has run out of couch to squirm away from Alex when he pulls his hands away.

"Sorry, sorry."

John laughs, more of a puffing breath than anything, and runs a hand through his hair, tugging the rest of it out of its ponytail. "No, it's fine. I just never expect it, is all."

"You want a little revenge?" Alex asks. John perks up his ears, eyes widening hopefully. Alex snorts. "I'm ticklish too."

He wasn't certain how John would react to that. But, as Alexander scrambles onto the floor to get away from John (smiling like the sun), Much Ado forgotten for the moment, he decides this is the perfect reaction. He takes it for a moment, lets John get more than his dose of revenge-tickling in, but when he doesn't let up, Alexander decides it's time to fight back. It's not a real fight. Real fights don't involve this much laughing nor this much squirming.

It does get a little messy, though. Alexander feels the moment when his hair finally slips loose from its ponytail and starts flying around his face. The threadbare carpet catches at their t-shirts and pulls loose threads from everything. John's shirt is riding up, and Alex feels his own back against the carpet. Maybe he'd be paying more attention to the whole  _actual hands on John's actual self_ thing if he wasn't getting mercilessly tickled.

As he's poking around at John's sides, Alexander's fingers find something long and bumpy and raised on his skin. And another just below that.

And another.

And another.

And another.

John is still wriggling when Alex pulls away entirely. "John," he says, drawing out the word. "What's... what's all this?" And, tentative, he reaches back and indicates the long string of parallel marks on John's side.

The mood shift is instant. John pulls himself into a sitting position and looks at the worn carpet, the pattern halfway indistinguishable now. He does not look at Alex. Alex doesn't want to push the issue, but at the same time, he knows he's going to push the issue. This is the kind of issue that deserves pushing.

"It's from awhile back," John mutters. Alex thinks he's trying to sound grumpy but not succeeding.

"Yeah?" Alex prompts. His voice comes out quiet. Not that he hadn't intended that, but he's surprised at himself. He doesn't typically have the capacity to sound that gentle. Maybe it's John rubbing off on him.

"Yeah," John says. He doesn't sound grumpy anymore.

 

_It's Alexander,_ John thinks.  _If there's anyone who can know, it's him._

"Long story short, depression, thoughts of suicide, et cetera. It's... better, lately. Since I got the job at Liberty."  _Since I met you. You're something to live for, Alexander. You've got enough life for the both of us combined._

Alexander Hamilton's focus is intense, and John feels lit up in his highbeams. He wonders if Alex really is glowing. "Is this still a thing?" Alex asks. "Like, an ongoing thing?"

"No," John says, shaking his head for emphasis. Technically a lie, but he's trying to make it the truth. Maybe it'll be the truth soon.

"You sure?"

"No," John says again. He can't lie to Alexander.

For some reason, the second 'no' seems to make him understand. John watches as Alexander stands up off of the floor and offers him a hand. He lets himself be pulled to his feet. "Ice cubes," Alex says, a complete non sequitur.

"Huh?"

"Next time. Fulfills the same urge, doesn't permanently damage you. Or, alternatively, you could come talk to me. But I am not always the easiest guy to talk to." He smiles, a tiny rueful thing, and John is overwhelmed. It's not like it was before. Nothing is like it was before (though nothing ever is). Alexander Hamilton is standing in front of him, officially living in his apartment now, and all that electricity feels like it's buzzing toward John with enough life for them both.

_Love need not be requited to be worth living for_ , John thinks, not knowing whether some famous philosopher said that or whether he said that, just now.

"Can we keep reading Much Ado?" John asks. "Gotta know it in time for Monday. I feel like I'm cramming for a test or something."

Alexander looks at him. It's an inscrutable look. There's something about the way his eyes change, softening around the edges. John knows he's seen that look on Alex before, directed at him, but for the life of him he can't figure out what it means. If someone said Alex was seeing through to his soul, weighing it against a feather like in Egyptian mythology, John wouldn't even be surprised.

"Let's keep reading Much Ado," Alex agrees. "Did I just do the 'I'll only fall for the perfect woman, that'll show Beatrice' speech?"

John laughs. "You did indeed."

"Alright, cool. Hang on, I gotta get my Benedick voice back on." Alexander clears his throat, and while he's distracted, John jabs him in the side. Alexander squirms and laughs. They go back and forth throughout the night, reading into the wee hours of the morning and tickling each other when they think the other isn't paying attention.

_I can't imagine why,_ John thinks in a moment of lucidity, partway through being Leonato,  _but this feels like an 'I love you.'_

 

On Monday morning over the PA system, they announce that auditions for the Liberty High production of Much Ado About Nothing will be held that evening and Tuesday evening, and to see Mr. Hamilton in A102 or Mr. Laurens in A103 if you're interested. Alex swears theater kids start coming out of the woodwork, and he's beset by people signing up to audition at regular intervals throughout the day, both students from his classes and students he's never seen before in his life.

He and John run auditions. Everyone reads a monologue from the character they're trying out for plus another short monologue of their choosing. Alex and John and Nicola (who's directing, of course) run the auditions. Alex and John poke each other in the sides and laugh when Nicola asks why they keep squealing.

They slowly whittle the mass of auditions down to who they want as their main cast and who they want as extras and understudies. They're still without a Hero and they're still without a Don John by midway through Tuesday auditions, but everyone else has been more or less nailed down.

The door opens and a figure slips through with a script in hand, a figure Alexander recognizes.

"You trying out?" he asks.

The figure onstage nods. 

"Alrighty! For who?"

"Hero."

"Sweet. Start whenever you're ready."

She squints at her script and sucks in a deep, shaky breath and opens her mouth to read. Alexander feels his eyes go wide and he whips his head to John, who's already staring owlishly at him. They both lean over to Nicola, sitting in the row in front of them, and she turns to look at each of them in turn, wide-eyed as they are.

They end up, later, casting Vic as Don John. He's good at being a villain. Nicola assures them that she'll type up the cast list at home and post it outside the auditorium tomorrow. Alexander and John go home together, like usual, still marveling over Hero. Alexander's already started calling her Hero in his head, even though that's not her name.

 

Elisa thinks she's reading the cast list wrong. The name at the top cannot possibly be correct. She reaches out and touches it with one finger. The black ink does not move or shimmer or disappear. This is not an illusion. This is not a drill.

Cam shows up, silent as a shadow like always. "Hey, Lis," she says. "Did you get the part?"

"I didn't try out, doofus," Elisa says, not turning away from the cast list. "I just really wanted to be the stage manager. So in that sense, yeah, I got the part. But you'll never guess who's playing Hero!"

"Oh? Who?"

Elisa can't contain herself any longer. She whirls around and wraps Cam up in a bear hug. She stiffens at the sudden contact, but then relaxes. She squeezes Elisa. 

"You didn't tell me you were trying out!" Elisa crows. "What about... y'know, everything? Oh my god, Cam, this is gonna be the greatest couple months of my life!"

"I... it's easier when there's a script," Cam mumbles, trying to explain herself. She can't do it properly. It's different on a stage, when everyone has a part to play and knows their lines and she fits in like a puzzle piece. Cam's not used to fitting in.

"Oh, whatever! You tried out and you made it and now we're gonna be in the play together! Well, sort of. We'll be at rehearsals together all the time! And Nicola's directing and Vic is Don John and Javier's playing Claudio - you remember Javier, right? From the debate club? - and I don't know any of these other people but it's gonna be a blast!"

Cam feels herself getting swept along by the tide of Elisa's excitement. "It is gonna be pretty sweet," she says. "Plus there's Laurens and A-Ham."

As if on cue, the teachers stroll past them in the hallway, side-by-side, laughing about something or other. Cam and Elisa share a devilish grin.

"Plus there's them," Elisa agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it cute? Is it sad? Who knows? We'll have to find out together!
> 
> Comments are the heart and soul of my motivation, so don't be afraid to let me know what you think!


	11. Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enigma (n.) - A person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.  
> "The kids' plans were an enigma at first, but when Elisa started talking, it became clear to Alex and John what they were trying to do."

The classroom setup at Liberty High School is weird. Everybody's shuffled around, and except for the art rooms (lining the basement hallway, very industrial, always covered in paint and clay), there's no real groups by subject. It's how Eliza Schuyler's guidance office ended up right next door to the auditorium. It's how Aaron Burr's math classroom ended up directly above it.

It's why both Eliza Schuyler and Aaron Burr are having a terrible time focusing right now.

Eliza doesn't need to focus at the moment (or rather, she should be focusing, but she's ahead on her work anyway and there are just  _so many_ good recipes on Pinterest today). But even so, the noise next door keeps tearing her attention away from homemade funfetti cupcakes. It's after school, and she'd know if there was a faculty meeting. Besides, faculty meetings have never sounded so hilarious. She keeps hearing snatches of voices followed by groans or uproarious laughter or interlocking shouts.

She closes her laptop and unfolds herself from her chair, rubbing at the aching backs of her thighs. It's time for a trip next door to see what the hell is going on.

 

Aaron Burr is considering banging on the floor. He feels like the upstairs neighbor to a raging party at 3 a.m. Now is not the time to be making all this noise one floor below him - he's trying to grade a precalculus quiz.

A voice rises above the clamor, a voice Aaron knows well. He can't pick out the actual words, but the cadence and complete lack of pauses can only belong to Alexander Hamilton.  _Figures_ , Burr thinks as he glances at the answer key for question twelve for the third or fourth time. The answer is still sin(x)+5. He checks it again a few seconds later, unfocused. Something hits the ceiling with a muffled  _thud_.

Aaron sighs, resigned, and pushes off in his chair until he rolls to a stop near the door. (He invested in a wheeled desk chair for this exact purpose.) It seems like he's taking a trip downstairs to see what the hell is going on.

He's surprised to bump into Eliza outside the door to the auditorium. "You too?" she asks, looking partway between sympathetic and amused.

"Couldn't get a single test graded," he replies.

Oddly, the noise has subsided somewhat, though Aaron suspects it may be the heavy auditorium doors muffling their direct line of hearing. He and Eliza nod at each other, somehow sharing a sort of friendship in this moment, united in their quest to figure out what the hell kind of party Alexander Hamilton is hosting.

When Aaron pulls the door open and waves Eliza in, he sees maybe thirty or forty kids sitting on the stage in a lopsided oval, each with a stack of white paper in front of them. John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton are at the head of the ring, speaking in murmurs. The kids all look serious, nodding and whispering to each other every so often. They're striking things through on their papers with pencils. It's quiet.

One of the kids looks up - Aaron recognizes him from algebra. Maxwell. "Hey, Mr. Burr!" he says, enthusiastic but still in library tones. "What's up?"

Heads swivel toward him and Eliza, and Aaron Burr isn't sure he's ever been more confused.

"Burr!" Alexander chirps. "Come to hang out with the Liberty High Shakespeare Dorks?"

"I thought we decided that's definitely not what we're calling ourselves," pipes up a dark-haired, dark-skinned, dark-eyed girl to Alex's left. He snorts.

"It's what I'm calling ourselves, Nic," he says.

Aaron looks at Eliza, who looks back at him, and then to the group on the stage. "We thought you were having a party," she explains. "I gotta say, I'm sort of disappointed there aren't any snacks or streamers or red plastic cups."

John Laurens grins. "I'm sure that can be arranged for tomorrow's rehearsal," he says.

"Is there a problem, officers?" jokes someone else, again someone Aaron doesn't know. Eliza giggles.

"No, Vic, I think we'll let you off with a warning this time. No speeding in the future, alright?"

And with that, she leads Aaron out of the auditorium. The heavy door swings shut behind them, and Aaron looks at Eliza. He's certain his confusion shows all over his face.  _What the hell just happened?_

Eliza shrugs.  _I dunno_ , says her posture and the wry little shake of her head. She grins, waves to him, and walks the few steps back to her office. Aaron waits by the door for a moment longer and hears Alexander's voice again. This time, he can discern the muffled words.

"Do you think they're gone?" Alexander is saying.

There's a moment of still silence, and then a bout of boisterous laughter. Aaron throws up his hands and decides he'll just have to grade his tests at home.

 

"That was sort of mean," Javier says. The impact of his words is lost in his giggles.

"Yeah, we should probably try for real to be quieter," John concedes, still shaking with laughter of his own.  _Alexander Hamilton is a terrible influence on me and these kids,_ he thinks, not with malice but with affection. And the look on Aaron Burr's face was even funnier than Alex promised.

They go back to cutting the script. Much Ado isn't one of Shakespeare's longer plays, but they're still trying to shave it to around two hours as opposed to nearly three. John's impressed that the kids do manage to quiet down, though they still get nowhere near their Fucking With Aaron Burr volume.

By the end of what technically counts as their first rehearsal, the Liberty High Shakespeare Dorks have cut their script down to a hair over two hours and spawned an inside joke while doing so. Every so often, one of the kids with mumble "Beeaaatriiccceeee" in their whiniest voice and send those around them into gales of laughter. Overall, John can't picture having a better day.

"Well," Alexander says on the ride home, leaning against John and clutching a copy of the script in his hands, "that was a day."

"It sure was," John agrees, leaning his head on top of Alexander's and trying not to freak out too much. He wonders whether his butterflies around Alexander will ever go away. They've been friends for awhile now. They've hugged, snuggled, punched, poked, and tickled each other. They live in the same apartment, for crying out loud. Not that John's looking to get over Alexander anytime soon - he still gets a little thrill of adrenaline every time they so much as talk - but it strikes him as odd that he's not used to it by now.

_Then again, does anyone ever really get used to touching a live wire?_

Alexander's taken, in the past week or so, to doing his work on John's couch, on the floor, in John's room, at the kitchen table, or pretty much anywhere but his own room. Which, as far as John's concerned, is awesome. It's fascinating watching Alexander work, especially when he's doing his mysterious essay series. John's asked him dozens of times what they're about and he's gotten different answers every time.  _The evolution of checks and balances in American government. Women's rights. Why the Constitution should be liberally interpreted -_ that one said with a little fire, just after the debate tournament.  _Reading Shakespeare in different accents. I dunno, just botany in general. Why communism is only cool in theory. Uh... personal junk, it's unimportant._

Someday John hopes he gets to read those freaking essays, because the curiosity is tearing him apart. He peeks over Alexander's shoulder sometimes, when Alex is in the deep stage of his work, full of muttering and frantic fingers, and doesn't even notice John in the room. He sees snatches of paragraphs, every word seeming brilliant in the few seconds he gets to see them. 

Tonight, the answer John gets when he asks about the essays is a goofy smile and the words "That's a secret."

"You know that just makes me more curious, right?"

"I'll tickle you if you try to look," Alex warns.

"It's on, Hamilton," John says with a grin. He spends the remainder of the evening doing worksheets as answer keys and getting tickled whenever he tries to steal a glance at Alex's laptop. Normally he wouldn't be this invested, but he's noticed that Alex isn't referring to any books for research tonight. Just his own head. While John doesn't doubt for a second that Alexander could write a well-researched novel without a single source but his own brain, the lack of books seems to put tonight's endeavor squarely in the category of  _personal junk, it's unimportant._

At one point, a little before nine, John actually manages to get his hands on Alex's laptop and pull it towards him before Alex slams it shut and starts jabbing him in the ribs, John squirming away and puzzling over why the  _fuck_ he just saw his name on Alexander's screen.

_Probably a different John. There are Johns everywhere. It's a stereotypically common name._

After that, he stops trying to look at Alexander's laptop.

 

Alexander's running late to debate club on Friday morning. Their train was late coming in and it was hell getting out of the station. He and John walk into his classroom, tossing the markers between them (John had them all of Thursday night and Alex didn't even know).

As soon as the door swings open, the usual hum of chatter in the room grinds to a screeching halt. The kids are all looking at them. Alexander watches them watching, notices a panicked glance dart from debate kid to debate kid and end, oddly, not at Nicola but at Elisa. She smiles brightly, makes a tiny, reassuring nod, and loudly wishes Alex and John a good morning.

"You guys are late," Javier points out. "I mean, it's fine, we're not mad."

"I can't help but feel like we're intruding," Alexander comments. "Anything you guys wanna tell me?"

The head-shaking is so unified, so rapid, that Alex has to laugh. "Y'all are highly suspicious, but alright. Warm-up for today. We're going around the room discussing... something, I haven't decided yet. You can take any position you want, no matter how outlandish - in fact, I encourage outlandish - but you're not allowed to repeat someone else's exact position and you have to defend your viewpoint. Everybody has thirty seconds to talk. Hm... who wants to give me a topic?"

Several hands shoot up, but everyone looks at Elisa and slowly retracts.  _When did she replace Nicola as de facto leader?_ Alex wonders. This is weird. He can feel it like a haze around him that this whole day is gonna be weird.

"I'm a little scared to call on you," Alex says, "but go ahead, Elisa."

"Relationships," she says with a pleasant grin, and then amends, "Specifically romantic relationships." Nicola, Alex notes, wiggles her eyebrows at Elisa. He notices Vic do a tiny victory fist-pump. Gloria is raising an eyebrow at Elisa and Nicola, and he thinks he might see her mouth the words 'here we go.' Alex leans over to John.

"Before you ask," John murmurs in his ear, "I have no idea what's going on, either."

"Glad we're on the same page." He turns to the kids, sitting down on the edge of his desk as he does so and shoving papers aside to make a spot for John. "Alright, we're gonna do this in a random order. Hm... Nicola, why don't you start us off?"

She gives a rousing speech on why romantic relationships only function when one is dating Elisa Mendes, to which everybody "awww"s. This is the first time Alexander has ever seen Nicola look anything akin to embarrassed or uncomfortable with attention. It's weird.

He continues calling on people at random, and then has John pick some. Nobody takes a standard position, which Alexander is happy about. Romantic relationships are actually a government conspiracy. Romantic relationships are beneficial because they allow for efficient pet ownership. Romantic relationships do this, are that, shouldn't be this, et cetera. He and John seem to decide, independently of one another, to save Elisa for last. She seems just fine with this.

Once Gloria, the penultimate speaker, has discussed why romantic relationships get better the more people you add to them, Alex turns to John. "Would you care to do the honors, Laurens?"

"It'd be my pleasure, Hamilton," John says with a flourish of his hand. "Elisa, if you'd please."

Elisa smiles, stands up next to her desk, and addresses the room at large. "Romantic relationships," she says, "are, to put it in layman's terms, awesome. A romantic relationship saves its participants from having to pine endlessly for each other. As I may attest to personally, endless pining is an uncomfortable situation in which to be. It makes one wistful, distracted, and often hopeless. However, two mutually pining parties who enter into a relationship will feel more fulfilled and retain all the positive feelings of the prior pining without any negative effects. In conclusion, I would not wish a lack of a romantic relationship on anybody who wants one for themselves, and I would encourage those who want one to go after it, because it is, again, awesome. Thank you."

Alexander swallows. He doesn't know how she knows, but from the little gleam in Elisa's eye, she knows. He's gotta stop being so obvious about it, at school more than anything. He's supposed to be someone these kids look up to and respect. And there's the issue that if the kids can tell, surely John can too. Alex feels himself blushing.

_I don't know if I've ever been an authority figure, though,_ Alexander thinks, still not looking at anyone else in the room.  _I'm just a friend who happens to know more about English than they do, when you get right down to it._

_I can live with that._

 

John Laurens can't make eye contact with anyone. This must have been what they were plotting earlier. He hasn't even spent very much time around these kids, but his crush on Alexander is evident even to them. And if they've figured it out, he can't imagine ever-perceptive Alexander hasn't. He wants to be grateful that Alex has had the courtesy not to point it out, even after... well, everything... but at this point he'd almost rather get the big reveal and big rejection over with.

It's almost painful, being so close to Alexander Hamilton every second of every day and being unable to kiss him, unable to let a casual 'I love you' slip out, unable to be  _his_. And yeah, at this point he knows for sure that Alex is his friend, nothing more, nothing less, nothing different. But it still feels like John's about to burst with the energy of all that pent-up 'I love you.' He's dying to just let it the hell out.

Evidently that's what the kids want too.

Next to John, Alex clears his throat awkwardly. "Well, good warm-up, guys. Took a little longer than I expected. Any of you guys not done some of your homework for today?"

Most of the hands shoot up. John laughs, though he can't say he's surprised. The debate kids are the definitions of overachievers, each of them in a different way, but from what he's picked up, everyone's got a lot of shit going on in their lives. Some have jobs, some have parental issues, some have no parents at all, some have sports practice for hours after school, and that's only a tiny sample.

"Alrighty then," Alex says with a characteristic winning smile. John fucking loves that smile. "Consider the next twenty minutes or so your break period, people. Feel free to get some homework done until the bell rings."

"You're so nice to us, A-Ham," Vic says with a smile.

Alex shrugs. "It's one of my many charms. I'll be back in a minute - bathroom. John, keep an eye on these unruly teenagers, would ya?"

John nods, and Alex leaves the room. As the door slams behind Alexander, John could swear he hears one of the students whisper something resembling "that went even better than I hoped." These kids'll be the death of him, honestly.

The minutes tick by. One, two, four, eight, until it gets to be far too long for any normal person to be in the bathroom. The bell will be ringing soon. The debate kids are starting to filter out into the hallway, book bags slung over one shoulder (never two; they're gonna give themselves scoliosis) and bidding cheerful goodbyes to John. With six minutes left until the first morning bell, John scribbles a neon green note on Alexander's whiteboard:  _be back soon - check your homework with a partner_ , because he remembers Alex saying something about that for his plans for today. Then he dashes across the hall to his own room, scribbles the same on his own board, deposits the markers, and leaves.

 

"So what comes next?" Javier asks Cam. They're sitting across the hall from each other waiting for the art room to open up. They have Drawing II first, both of them, and the teacher's always late. Cam ducks her head so as not to look right at Javier, letting her bangs fall in front of her face. When Elisa and Nicola told her they'd be extending the plan to the rest of the debate club, she agreed right away. Anything for her favorite teacher.

But it seems like they also told people who the mastermind behind the operation is, and Cam is not used to having this much attention focused right at her, least of all from cute boys with wide eyes and wide smiles. "What do you mean?" she murmurs.

"For the plan!" he prods, enthusiastic. Cam dares a glance at his smile. "I think it's working so far," Javier continues. "I kinda feel bad embarrassing them, but it'll be so worth it in the end. Do you think they've figured it out yet, that they like each other?"

Cam shakes her head, feeling herself smiling just a little bit. Javier's is contagious. "No, they haven't," she says, voice still soft but echoey in the basement hallway. "They only look at each other like that when the other one isn't looking."

"It's a damn shame," Javier says. "But anyway, what's our next step, chief?"

"Chief?"

"Too weird?"

Cam shakes her head and feels her smile grow. "It's okay. I kinda like it. So you're in the play, right?"

"Yeah! I'm playing Claudio. And you're Hero! Is the next step play-related? Because that is gonna be so much fun."

"Mm-hm. So here's what I'm thinking..."

Cam is startled to find that, when the Drawing II teacher finally shows up (four minutes late) and unlocks the door, she's still talking.

 

The teachers' bathroom on this floor is small. Only one stall, in fact, plus a short row of urinals. This is where John checks first. For a moment, he thinks he's missed Alexander entirely, that they somehow passed each other in the hallway and didn't realize it. Two facts, which he realizes in quick succession, disprove his original hypothesis.

One: there's a pair of beat-up sneakers that used to be lime green under the stall. John recognizes those sneakers from every dress-down Friday they've had so far this year. No one but Alexander has those sneakers.

Two: when he listens in silence for a moment, he can hear crying coming from the stall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: COMFORT AND FLUFF ALL THE WAY. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments - they always make my day!


	12. Stratagem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stratagem (n.) - A plan or scheme, especially one used to outwit an opponent or achieve an end.  
> "Liberty High's stratagem for approaching John and Alexander was to come at them from all sides."

Freshman English doesn't know what to do with themselves. There's a note scribbled on the whiteboard, and it isn't even in their teacher's handwriting. They're looking at each other as the second bell of the morning rings, lost and confused.

"So what're we supposed to do?" Lexi asks.

"Hmm, I don't know, maybe what it says on the board?" William shoots back.

"We didn't have homework, genius," cuts in Natasha.

The freshmen lapse into silence before someone begins chatting to someone else, who lets someone else in the conversation, who yells across the room to her friend, who repeats the joke to those who didn't hear, who laugh and snort until someone falls out of their chair. As it often does with ninth graders, the noise escalates until it reaches a dull roar, just loud enough that everyone can pretty much hear everyone else, just quiet enough that the adjacent teachers probably won't complain. Freshmen are good at keeping noise at this level.

The minute hand on the clock over the doorway inches ever forward. The freshmen talk. They don't say it to each other - they're fourteen, maybe fifteen, and still trying to make a cool impression on everybody else in the room - but they're all a little worried that Hamilton hasn't showed up yet.

No one knows where their teacher is.

 

"Alex?" calls a tentative voice. Alexander bites down on his lip until he draws blood, trying to keep silent and quit crying. He holds his breath and, while his shoulders are still shuddering, he makes no noise. The door doesn't open or close again. John's still out there, waiting. Alex can hear him draw in a long breath.

"Alexander, I know you're in there. I can see your feet."

Alex draws his knees up to his chest, removing his feet from view, and he hears John huff somewhere between amused and annoyed. "Alex, c'mon. Just come out of there, okay? You don't even have to talk to me, but let's go somewhere nicer than a bathroom."

He, more than just about anything, doesn't want to leave the bathroom stall. Because while it's not the classiest place, and while it's not the best-smelling place, he doesn't want John Laurens to see him like this. Alex knows he'll have tear tracks drying on his cheeks, knows his hair's a frizzing mess from running his hands through it so many times, knows he looks like a classic tragedy walking off the page. And maybe he'd be alright with John seeing all that if John weren't the reason he's crying.

_Nah, it's not fair to blame it on John,_ Alex thinks.  _It's not his fault. Of course it's not. It's more like I'm crying about me._

"Alexander. Please," John says and goddammit, he  _has_ to know how Alex feels about him because he's got to be pulling the puppy-dog face, Alex can hear it in his voice. God help and forgive him, Alexander Hamilton has never been able to resist John Laurens, especially when he starts doing shit like this. With a whining noise Alexander didn't know he was capable of making, he unfolds himself and emerges from the stall, wiping at his face to maybe clear away some of the tear tracks.

"You're bleeding!" John exclaims. "And crying. Which one came first? Never mind, don't answer that yet, let's get you cleaned up."

"I can do it myself," Alex grumbles.

"Sure you can," John agrees. He's already dampening paper towels in the sink. "But you don't have to." He comes at Alex with the paper towels and Alex swallows, hard, trying not to cry again because this is why he's crying in the first place. He's pretty sure he heard somewhere that doing math makes you less likely to cry, so he loops through the seven-times table in his head. John dabs at his lip with the paper towel and the seven-times table stops working.

Alex rolls his eyes up toward the ceiling in a last-ditch effort to stop the tears, but they pay no attention, skating down his cheeks all the same.

John tosses the paper towel into the trash and grabs another. Mercifully, he just hands it to Alex this time, who rubs hard at his eyes and cheeks until he knows he's red. Alex would really like to be anywhere in the world except here right now.

"So what's going on?" John asks.

"It's fine," Alex replies. "Don't worry about me, okay? We should get to class. My freshmen are gonna be lost."

"Alex. You were sobbing in a bathroom."

"I don't sob," he interjects, indignant.

"You were  _crying_ in a bathroom. I'm getting worried. The freshmen can deal with it. Look, like I said, I'm not gonna force you to talk to me. But I'm here and you can tell me anything and I'll never judge you, Alex, never ever."

_That's the worst part of it. Of course he'd judge me, because I'm in love with him and I've been hiding it - not even well - for months now. Holy shit, it's been months that I've been in love with him. Of course he'd feel weird and gross around me and everything between us would change. I'd have to move out of his apartment and everything would go back to how it used to be. But he wouldn't be mad. I dunno if he'd understand, but he wouldn't be mad because he's John Laurens._

"Let's go, okay? We'll talk on the way to class." John tugs at Alex's arm, not hard, just a suggestion. Alex wants to hate him, in this moment, for being so goddamn close and so goddamn unreachable, but he can't. He doesn't think he could ever hate him.

"If you really wanna know..." Alex starts, holding the door for John.

"I do."

"That whole thing the kids were doing? With romantic relationships? There's... there's a guy I'm into, right now, and I think that was for my benefit. Which means it's painfully obvious I'm head over heels for him, if all the debate kids know. I know they mean well, it's kinda funny how committed they all were to that plan, but that just drove it all home, y'know? That he doesn't feel the same, never has, probably never will. And like, I knew that already. But it hit me all at once. You know?"

He knows his eyes are wide as he gauges John's reaction.

John's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? Though I guess that makes more sense, the kids don't know me that well."

"Wait, what?"

John laughs. "I actually thought that whole thing was for my benefit. I thought they'd figured out that I've had a thing for-" He draws in a sharp breath, cuts himself off. "But like I said, that probably was for you, since they don't know me nearly as well. So yeah. Not what I thought it was."

Alex almost misses it in the cross-cut sentences, but John Laurens is into someone, which means Alexander is torn between never wanting to talk about it again and running with his curiosity until he knows just who's caught John's eye.

"Ooh, who've you got a thing for?" Alexander hears himself ask, and he knows his moment of weakness has passed. For the best, of course. He doesn't like to cry and he's always annoyed with himself after doing so. It's cathartic, sometimes, but it tends to make everything more difficult and it tends to make people feel sorry for you, neither of which Alex finds helpful.

"We are  _not_ talking about this right now," John retorts as they near their classrooms.

"Fine. Later, then."

"Later!" John says with a wave as he enters his classroom. Alexander stares at the closed door for a moment before heading in to his freshmen. They've got a lot of work to do today, and he can't wait to get started. After all, nobody pities you when you're working.

 

John Laurens is worried. A little part of him is worried about who Alexander has a thing for - his bets are on Lafayette. A much bigger part of him is worried about Alexander. He seemed fine right before John found him sobbing in a bathroom (and yes, he does sob). He seemed fine just a few seconds ago, after John found him sobbing in a bathroom. This has led John to the troubling conclusion that Alex might spend enough time sobbing in bathrooms that he knows how to make a quick recovery.

It seems as though Military History senses his nerves.

Kay raises her hand a few minutes into class. "What's wrong, Laurens?" she asks. "You just wrote the same thing on the board twice in a row."

"Shit," he says, and covers his mouth at the gales of laughter. "Sorry, sorry." He erases the duplicate bullet point, caps his marker, realizes he needs to write, and uncaps it again. Right now he's using the neon pink.

"Yeah, something's clearly up," Marco adds. "You wanna talk about it?"

"You guys aren't my therapist," John says. "And I don't think it's cool for teachers to share personal information with students anyway. So, no."

"Not like any of us are gonna run and tell on you to Principal Washington," Kay points out. "Besides, it sure doesn't seem like we're gonna get much more learning done, given that you just wrote 'phalanx' twice in one sentence and then stopped writing, until you get whatever this is off your chest."

"She's trying to stall the quiz!" calls Yolanda from the back of the room.

"It's on Monday, doofus," James responds.

"So it's working," Kay says with a wicked grin. "C'mon, Laurens, talk to us."

He sighs, caps his marker once more, and lays it down. "Okay, but keep in mind, this is all hypothetical," he says. "None of this is real, so I can't get in trouble for telling you guys about it. We all agreed?"

Nods from around the classroom. "Alright, cool. So, hypothetically, I'm having some difficulty with a friend of mine. This friend... someone want to give me a hypothetical name for my friend?"

"Milton!" Yolanda declares, slouching even further in her seat than John thought possible. He nods.

"Okay, so Milton and I are... well, we're close. Or we would be, if they were real. Over the course of my friendship with Milton, I've kinda grown attached to them. Unfortunately, they aren't attached to me in quite the same way. But I care a lot about them. A whole lot. And I'm really worried about them, because they seem like they're going through a rough time but I can't know for sure because they hide it well. I'm just not sure what to do. And to top it all off, they've, y'know, grown attached to someone. Who is not me. So now I'm curious." John pauses, takes in the expressions of his students, and tacks on a, "Y'know. In theory," for good measure.

There's some nervous laughter, like they don't quite know how to react, but Yolanda has quit slouching. "If this were a real situation," she says, half-speed, "I would advise you to talk to Milton. But it's never that simple, is it?"

"I'm afraid it's not."

Marco raises his hand and speaks without being called on. "Hypothetically, what kind of bad time is Milton going through?"

"That's the thing - I wouldn't know even if they were real. Nothing too bad, I hope, but... I think they've had it rougher than I know. I want to help them in any way I can, but I don't know how. And it's all complicated by the getting-attached issue. Or rather, it would be."

He notices Yolanda texting furiously but tries not to worry about it. Bobby calls out, "Well hypothetically I'm rooting for you two!"

"Thanks. In theory."

And they get back to talking about how the Greek phalanx revolutionized the style of warfare for the time, and John manages to focus. Talking about his issues did seem to help, in a way. He's still worried about Alex.  _Good thing the weekend's coming up,_ he thinks as he passes out the little study guide for Monday's quiz.  _If nothing else, at least Alex will be crying in my bathroom._

 

Javier's phone buzzes in the middle of Drawing II. The teacher's all the way on the other side of the room, and anyway he's more or less finished with his shading, so he risks a quick glance. It's a series of texts from his older sister. She's a senior this year and seems to have stopped caring about no-phones-in-the-classroom.

_[From: YoYoYolanda] hey_ _javo u know that thing u were telling me about?_

_[From: YoYoYolanda] sry i should be more specific. u know that RIDICULOUS thing u were telling me about?_

_[From: YoYoYolanda] the one where debate club wants to get ur teachers together_

_[To: YoYoYolanda] I remember. what about it?_

_[From: YoYoYolanda] military history wants in. all of us._

_[To: YoYoYolanda] Wait, really? since when?_

_[From: YoYoYolanda] since this morning when laurens is "hypothetically" SUPER IN LOVE WITH UR DEBATE CLUB ADVISOR. srsly, any way we can help, we will. there's 19 of us and we are committed_

_[To: YoYoYolanda] I'll let Cam and Elisa and Nicola know. hope you don't mind taking orders from two sophomores and a junior_

_[From: YoYoYolanda] it's a sacrifice i'm willing to make. see ya, hermanito_

_[To: YoYoYolanda] Adiosssssssssss_

"Who was that?" Cam asks, not even looking up from her paper. She's erasing and re-sketching, and while Javier can't see most of her page, he glimpses leaves so realistic he'd swear they're a greyscale photograph.

"My sister," he says. "You're never gonna believe this, but she says her Military History class wants in on the plan. Laurens teaches it, so they've gotta be helpful. I mean, I assume you'll have to consult with the rest of the board of directors, but the more the merrier, right?"

Cam nods. "I think so. We'll have to figure out how they'll be best suited to this, though. Once we do the part in rehearsal on Monday, we can bring them in, too. I dunno what we'll do yet. I don't know a lot about Laurens."

"Yolanda'll be a good operative," Javier assures her, patting her hand. Cam jumps and fidgets in her seat. "Woah, sorry," Javier says, scraping his chair away from her. "I didn't realize that wasn't okay. Sorry."

Cam looks up from her drawing for the first time, choppy bangs falling in her eyes, and smiles. "No, it's... it's cool." Javier isn't sure whether he's ever seen her with a real smile before, but it's lopsided and shy and her braces have pink elastics on them. He swears he can feel his heart stop for a moment.

Javier grins back. "Whatever you say, chief."

 

Principal Washington is having an excellent day. He's been getting nothing but good reports from teachers, and he hasn't had to deal with a student, discipline-wise, for the whole day thus far. He has had to deal with a student in the manner of informing her that there's a leadership conference coming up soon and she's been nominated by her teachers to be a part of it. She politely declined, but also took the paperwork he offered her.

Washington's expecting great things from Cam Nguyen.

He's about ready to start wrapping things up for the day when Alexander Hamilton comes whirlwinding into his office. "Good afternoon, sir," he says with a nod.

"Nice to see you, son!" Washington realizes he's booming a little, but he is excited to see Alexander. It's been awhile since they chatted. 

"How've you been?" Alex asks. He's tapping his fingers on his knee, seated across from Washington's desk, and his bag is still slung over his shoulder. It's obvious that he'd prefer to skip the pleasantries to get to... whatever. Washington's fond of pleasantries, though.

"Oh, you know, just fine, just fine. Had a good day today. Parent-teacher conferences are coming up quick, though, so of course there's always more to do. And you? I feel like I never see you anymore, son."

Alexander doesn't reply directly. Instead, he says, "Okay, so this might be weird and I'm not sure if there's a precedent for dealing with it, so feel free to tell me I'm being an idiot."

"I assure you, I already do," Washington says drily. Alexander spares him a brief snort before steamrollering on.

"So, how the hell are you supposed to react to your students trying to get you together with another teacher? Because I'm pretty damn sure that's what's going on right now and I don't know whether I'm supposed to tell them to knock it off or what. So yeah. That's happening."

Washington hasn't had a good laugh like this in ages. Alex's progressively more confused expression only makes him laugh harder. "Okay, sorry," he says. "I'd suggest just letting it run its course. When I first started teaching here several of my students, hm,  _hinted_ that I ought to spend some time with a fellow teacher."

"And did you?"

"Well I was engaged to Martha at the time, so no. Trust me, son, it's a tradition as old as schools. I don't believe it's ever worked."

Alexander mumbles something too quiet for Washington to catch, but he's dashing out and bidding him a happy weekend before he can so much as request that Alex speak up. He wonders what that was all about. He thinks he might know who the students are trying to push him together with.

_I don't believe it's ever worked,_ Washington repeats in his head.  _Yet._

 

Angelica Schuyler, Eliza Schuyler, Hercules Mulligan, and Gilbert-of-the-long-name Lafayette are getting fed up with watching their friends dance around each other. Aaron Burr isn't, necessarily, but he stumbled upon the wrong meeting in the library, so now here he is. Even the Schuylers' youngest sister, Peggy, is present. She's a new substitute at Liberty and appears to be there for the gossip.

"We need a plan," Angelica says, hands spread flat on the table.

"Duh," Lafayette interjects.

Unfazed, Angelica continues, "Whatever Laf and Herc tried obviously didn't do shit, so we need a better plan. Ground rules: nothing you've seen in a rom-com. Nothing involving sex or alcohol."

"And nothing that could backfire as spectacularly as the Laf and Herc plan did," Peggy adds with a grin. "Liza told me how that went down."

"Other than that, everything's on the table. Have at it," Angelica concludes.

They toss ideas back and forth, but since Angelica mentioned rom-coms, they're all stuck on that. Holding up boom boxes outside a person's window in the rain is less effective, they all agree, when the two people they want to get together live in the same apartment.

"Well," Aaron says, feeling an idea formulating despite his resolution to himself not to get involved with this shit, "aren't they the co-advisors for that Shakespeare play they're doing? There's generally romance in Shakespeare, yes?"

Unbeknownst to them, several blocks away, in a brownstone basement surrounded by comfy furniture, Elisa Mendes, Cam Nguyen, Nicola Brown, Javier de la Rosa, and Vic Cooper are discussing the exact same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: people start joining forces to get these two idiots to profess their love for each other.
> 
> Comments are my favorite part, so let me know what you think!


	13. Cathartic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathartic (adj.) - Providing psychological relief through the open expression of strong emotions.  
> "That Monday afternoon proved to be cathartic for everyone with a stake in John and Alex's relationship - especially the two themselves."

John Laurens begins to suspect something's up on the train ride into school. Alexander's phone dings five times in a row, and he raises his eyebrows when he reads the messages. Alex types something back, something short, and keeps his phone out to watch the response.

"What's going on?" John asks.

"The debate kids have two group chats: one with me in it, in case of emergencies, and one without me in it. They just sent stuff to the one with me in it which, I believe, was not intended for me to read." He tilts his phone to face John. The messages aren't coherent without prior context, but they discuss a plan and rehearsal for the play and Alexander and, oddly, "Yolanda and the MilHis kids."

 _Something you guys wanna tell me?_ says Alexander's text.

There are no messages coming in now.

John snorts, unsure what to make of the whole situation. This must be a continuation of whatever the kids were doing on Friday, trying to get Alex to talk about the object of his affection. Over the weekend, John managed to convince himself that it is, in fact, Lafayette. After all, the two are constantly in communication. Plus the fact that Laf has Asshole Thomas Jefferson would explain why Alex knows he doesn't feel the same way about him. It also, in a way, explains the crying.

 _Hell,_ John thinks,  _I'd be crying if Alex said he had a thing for Asshole Thomas Jefferson._

"So what're you gonna do about it?" John hears himself ask, still half-wrapped up in thought.

Alexander shrugs. "Let it happen. The debate kids on their own would be unstoppable, much less them plus Much Ado. Plus, uh, 'Yolanda and the MilHis kids,' though fuck me if I know what that means."

 _Poor choice of words_ is John's first thought. His second is  _wait_. "I think I do," he says. "Yolanda de la Rosa is in my Military History class. Though, at least as far as I know, no one calls it MilHis."

"Huh. You got anything to do with this, Laurens?"

"No, of course not! To be honest, I don't even know why they'd want to get involved. I don't think any of them are in the play. Or debate, come to think of it. Do you even know my Military History class?"

Alexander shakes his head. "Yeah. Weird."

They move on to other topics, but John wonders whether the hypothetical incidents of Friday's Military History class have anything to do with this. Although that wouldn't make sense, given that the debate club's ploy was to get  _Alex_ together with somebody, so they couldn't be related.  _Unless this is some big misunderstanding,_ John realizes,  _in which my class knows I like Alex and Alex's class knows he likes someone else and it all got mixed together into one big plan when really it should have been two separate, smaller plans._

Something needles at the back of John's head, but he ignores it until they get to school. They drop their stuff off in their respective classrooms, and he offers to grab Alex whatever old breakfast pastries they have in the teachers' lounge this morning. Alex accepts his offer, gratefully, citing all the work he has to do.

Alex always has work to do, from what John's seen. He figures if, just once in his life, he helps Alexander Hamilton relax and quit writing like it's his last day on Earth, he will have succeeded. And if bringing him day-old teachers' lounge pastries will help, that's just what he'll do.

It's still early, so the teachers' lounge is uncrowded. Angelica Schuyler is there, talking to, of all people, Aaron Burr.

"Good morning, guys," John says, shocked at how chipper he sounds. He doesn't know why that shocks him. He's still feeling preoccupied, with thoughts in the back of his head whining like mosquitoes just out of sight. He doesn't know why he's doing that, either.

"Speak of the devil," Burr says, smooth and sly. This is how he says everything.

Angelica clarifies, "We were just discussing your bright and happy future with Alexander Hamilton."

"And how it doesn't exist?"

Angelica snorts. "Well not yet, it doesn't, but I assure you it will. At least, if our students have anything to do with it."

"So they do have a plan?"

"I think they have several," Aaron cuts in. "They gossip loudly, and I swear you two are their favorite topic of conversation. There's a movement to get you together in the student body."

"There's a movement to get them together in the faculty, too, Aaron, and you're a part of it."

"I was hoping you wouldn't mention that."

John stands silently, hand halfway to the little pile of apple danishes, watching Aaron and Angelica go back and forth and trying to process this volley of new information. How many people are tangled up in this scheme? He must have asked aloud, because Angelica responds.

"From what we can put together, maybe fifty students, as well as six teachers, not counting you or Alexander." She smiles, folding her hands. John can't shake the feeling that Angelica has much more to say, so much more, but she won't say it. She'll let him fumble through on his own.

"Not counting me  _or_ Alexander?"

"That is what I said, yes."

He piles a couple of danishes onto a napkin, fills his own coffee mug, and prepares to leave with his precariously balanced snacks. As Aaron jumps up to get the door for him, something occurs to John. "Wait wait wait," he says. "Please tell me you guys haven't been conspiring with the kids."

"I would," Aaron says, with an I'm-sorry smile. "In fact I really wish I could."

"Well." That's about all John can say. "I mean, uh. Well. Have a nice day, guys."

 

Alexander Hamilton doesn't process most of his day. The mechanisms that power his brain are receiving too much power and are spinning into overdrive, gears crushing up against each other and sparks flying. Nothing slows. Nothing stops. He picks out little moments of his classes, like he's getting photos rather than live video of his classes. A few of his students in each class shooting each other - and him - knowing looks, a picture of students smirking from all the way across the classroom. A well-placed derailing question about Romeo and Juliet, and loving someone you haven't known for very long, a picture of raised hands and all eyes on him. Two of his freshmen debating the meaning of loyalty versus the meaning of devotion, a picture of two open mouths, four narrowed eyes.

Time speeds to normal only twice.

The first time is temporary. At the beginning of his break, he makes a dash for the coffee, knowing he'll need it for rehearsal. On the way he bumps into Eliza Schuyler walking with another woman who, remarkably, looks nothing like her yet unmistakably related to her.

"Hey, Eliza!" he says. "Hey, other person I don't know!"

"Peggy," she replies, sticking her hand out for a shake. "Better known as the third Schuyler sister to land a job at this high school. We've gotta be setting some sort of record. You must be Alexander Hamilton."

"Uh, yeah. Did Liza tell you what I look like, or...?"

Peggy shakes her head. "Nah. You can just tell." She turns to Eliza. "So this is the guy who's dying to get with John Laurens, yes?"

Alexander's startled. Eliza giggles. "Yeah, that would be the guy." By way of explanation, she says, "Peggy sat in on our Friday afternoon meeting."

"Shit, did I miss a professional development-"

"No, no, don't worry. We're just all getting tired of seeing you pining after each other and we want to help, so Angelica organized a meeting of all of your concerned friends - and Aaron Burr - and we're here to help you." Eliza punctuates the end of her statement with a smile, as she does with almost all of her statements.

"Who's we?" Alex asks, holding the door to the teachers' lounge open for the Schuyler sisters. "Aside from Aaron Burr. And you two. Is it just the three of you? Because that would make for the weirdest set of Musketeers I've ever heard of. And hang on. Us pining after _each other_?"

"Not just us," Peggy says, carefully avoiding Alexander's final question. "Angelica's been very outspoken about wanting you two together, stat. Plus Hercules Mulligan and the French guy are in on it."

Alexander groans. "So basically all of my good friends are meddling in my personal life at the moment."

"Yep," Eliza confirms. "If you don't want us meddling, though, we'll back off. I mean, I don't know whether or not the kids will, but I will. Angelica and Peggy and I will, and probably Aaron too. Would you like us to back off?"

"Nah, it's fine." Alex refills his coffee, the things Eliza and Peggy have told him slotting into place. "Hang on, wait. Liza, are you seriously in league with my students?"

Eliza glances at Peggy, who raises an eyebrow. Neither of them says anything, but Peggy turns back to Alexander and winks. He departs with his coffee, life slipping back into snapshot mode.  _Of course all my friends can tell I'm in love with him, so they're trying to get us together. Same goes for the debate club. The only piece that doesn't make sense is Military History. They don't know me, but they must know Laurens wants someone. Maybe there are two plans that got mixed together. But that still doesn't explain why Liza and Angelica and everyone would be conspiring with a bunch of teenagers when they, of all people, ought to know that John Laurens isn't even a little bit into me._

He spends ten minutes trying to work, but the coffee seems to be increasing his energy instead of his focus. Alex wouldn't be surprised if he looked down and saw sparks flying off of his skin. He goes across the hallway instead. After all, if anything can make him feel normal in the midst of whatever the hell is going on in this goddamn school, it's John. Besides, h's had the markers for far too long today.

"Yo," he says upon entering. He and John don't knock anymore. They just walk in. John is doodling on the whiteboard, a mess of question marks and exclamation points in different colors and fonts. He caps his marker.

"You ready for whatever the kids are cooking up for rehearsal?"

Alexander brays a short laugh. "Not in a million years, man. I don't even know what I'm expecting. What do they do in sitcoms when they want people to get together?"

"I dunno. Mistletoe?"

"Last I checked it was October, so..."

John looks perturbed. "It's actually November at the moment."

"Woah, shit, really? Time flies when you're having fun."

"You're having fun?"

Alexander, already thinking three conversational leaps ahead, forces himself to pause. "Yeah. Yeah, actually, I am. Liberty's been the best job I could ever have asked for, I think. I love all the kids - did I tell you my freshman are super smart but also super pretentious? It's hilarious. Today Elliot and Jonah were debating the difference between loyalty and devotion. It got  _intense_. And being able to coach debate, and be an advisor to the play, and the free coffee."

"Free coffee tops the list," John agrees with a laugh.

"True that, my friend. But beyond that, I feel like working here has been a long string of positive opportunities. Washington's, like, the best, obviously. And meeting everybody has been almost impossibly great. I've never had a group of friends before, y'know, not before working here. And moving in with you was the icing on the cake - I can say that, right? We have officially become roomies?"

"Think so."

"Perfect. So... yeah. I'm having fun." Alexander repeats it again, waiting for the reality of it to sink in. "It's been fun."

This is the point where he begins expecting it all to come crashing down around him in a cascade of broken-glass expectations and wind and rain. He's had too many hurricanes already. There's no reason Liberty won't be another disaster. There's no reason John Laurens won't be another disaster.

 _But damned if I'm not gonna enjoy it until it happens,_ Alex thinks resolutely.

The afternoon bell rings. "Let's go to rehearsal," John says, grinning in a way that makes it feel like it's the two of them against the world. Alexander likes this look on John, a proud, determined smile as they link their arms together.

"Let's go to rehearsal," Alex agrees.

 

"Okay," Javier says to the group, with his easy smile and his effortlessly loud voice. "We all agree on what we're doing?"

"Playing it cool," say some of the actors, clearly an echo.

"Not getting in the way!" call many of the tech crew.

"And we," says Eloise, the production's Beatrice, "are asking for acting help."

"Correction -  _you're_ asking for acting help. It'll be more believable that way," says Joe, the production's Benedick.

"You're right. While it's inherently obvious that you need acting help, I'm capable of believably pretending I need it," she fires back.

Javier holds up his hands for silence, chuckling to himself. "It's hilarious to me that you guys actually hate each other in real life. Alright guys. Thank you all for your help thus far, and shout-out to Cam for coming up with this part of the plan."

Off to the side of the stage, Cam gives Javier a shy thumbs-up, ducking her head so as not to have the crowd of students directly in her line of sight. Even though she can't see him, she can feel the focused beam of Javier's grin aimed at her.

There are footsteps outside the auditorium. "Places, everyone!" Elisa shouts, only halfway a joke.

 

Just before she leaves for home, Angelica pokes her head into the auditorium to watch the Much Ado rehearsal in progress. Everything looks like it's progressing as normal, which, as Angelica heard, was what the students were hoping for.

 _That's good,_ she thinks.  _Need them to be just off-guard enough for the scene to happen._

Angelica knows how this is supposed to play out. She can't wait to see if it works.

 

"Hey, A-Ham?" Eloise asks, in the middle of rehearsing a scene offstage with Joe. "Could we get some help?"

Alexander springs up, heads over to them. "Sure, yeah, anything. What's bugging you guys?"

"I'm sorta having a hard time with the way the love-confession lines need to be said. I'm trying to do it with feeling, obviously, but I think I've got the wrong feeling."

"That feeling being pure, unbridled hatred," Joe cuts in, snarky.

Alex laughs. He's not sure quite how he and John and Nicola managed to cast a Beatrice and Benedick who snipe and bicker in real life just as much as they do on the page, but it's either a testament to their casting skills or Eloise and Joe are just really into method acting. Either way, he's happy to help.

"Yeah, sure. Joe, you wanna do your lines for me?"

"Uh, can I watch? I just gotta hear it one time before I do it, y'know?"

"Oh, okay. I getcha." Alexander turns around, scanning the room for a potential Benedick. His eyes settle on John, who's watching Nicola direct Verges and Dogberry through appropriate comedic timing. "Hey, John!" he shouts.

A few moments later, they've arranged themselves to ensure that Eloise and Joe can both see and hear how they're doing the dialogue. "It's the confession scene," Alex explains. "Starting from 'ah, how much might the man.' Do you guys want acting tips throughout or do you just wanna see it straight through?"

"Straight through," they say in unison.

Alexander runs the first few lines with John without incident. But as he reaches one of Beatrice's, he realizes he isn't trying to act. He's not putting false feeling behind these words. He's not talking to Benedick. He's talking to John Laurens. The line sticks in his throat for a moment.

"I do love nothing in the world so well as you," he says, feeling the line trickle from somewhere deep in his subconscious. "Is that not strange?"

They keep going. John recites lines about love and for a moment, just a moment, Alexander believes him.

"You have stayed me in a happy hour; I was about to protest I loved you," Alex says.

"And do it with all thy heart," John tells him. Alex wants to tell him  _I do, I already do,_ because John is leaning towards him and his expression is so open, so vulnerable, and his freckles are standing out against his skin and Alex wants to look into his eyes and find something there, Alex  _wants_.

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest," Alex replies. This is the part, he remembers all at once, where Beatrice and Benedick are supposed to do The Big Kiss and the audience goes wild. While Alexander's still running a split-second cost-benefit analysis in his head, John, who seems to be swept up in the moment or just committed to his acting, kisses him.

Alexander recognizes right away that he may never get this opportunity again, so he immediately puts aside his worries and tries to ignore his buzzing head. He puts a hand around John's waist, rests the other on his chest, and closes his eyes. Kissing John feels like going off the high dive for the first time. There's a fluttery adrenaline in the pit of his stomach, but he has plunged under the surface of something too deep for him to name and the world around them has gone silent.

He pulls away before John does, acutely aware that they're in a room full of high schoolers. John's dark eyes look a shade brighter, and he's got a dazed smile on the edges of his mouth. He smiles at Alexander and Alex smiles back and almost leans in to kiss him again. He could write poetry about that kiss. He could write a whole  _book_ about that kiss. He's listing rhymes for John in his head when he hears noise.

"Come," John says, even his voice sounding hazy with delight. "Bid me do any thing for thee."

Right. Acting. As much as he wants to stay there and admire John, Alexander forces himself to rally. In the most deadpan voice he can accomplish at the moment, he says, "Kill Claudio."

The world stops being silent and starts applauding, whooping, whistling. 

"You know, I think I've got it now," Eloise says.

"Agreed," Joe adds.

Over John's shoulder, Alexander notices Angelica Schuyler slipping out of the auditorium with a grin splitting her face from ear to ear.

Somehow, Alex manages to say, "Glad we could help."

The rest of rehearsal doesn't even get snapshots. Instead, it's overwritten with instant replay of Kissing John Laurens, over and over and over. Alexander picks apart the memory and puts it back together again. How John smelled, how warm he was, how his hair was coming out of its ponytail.

The next thing he knows, he's on the subway home with John by his side.

 

"I would call that a success," Javier says around the straw of a milkshake. He and Cam are seated side-by-side at the counter. She has chocolate, he has vanilla. He likes the contrast.

"As would I," Cam agrees. "So what do we do next?"

Javier shrugs. "I don't know if we even have to worry about it. We'll see how tomorrow goes."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Cam takes a sip of her milkshake, ducking behind her bangs.

"Hey," Javier says, making a concerted effort not to be loud, "why do you always do that? Hide behind your hair, I mean."

"It's not a conscious thing."

"Oh, alright. Sorry. I just... you don't need to, Chief."

Cam looks at Javier. It's disconcerting for him. She doesn't often look directly at him, this open, this honest, this willing to be confused. "What d'you mean?"

Improbably, Javier feels himself getting nervous. He takes a deep breath. This is so much harder than public speaking. "I just meant... well, you don't have to. You're cute, Cam. I swear, you don't need to hide."

She keeps looking at him. This may be the longest they've maintained eye contact. Javier keeps taking deep breaths.

"You are too," she mumbles.

"Huh?"

"Cute."

 

John can feel it, feel it too much, every time his knee knocks against Alexander's. He knows their arms aren't far apart, that if he shifted just a little they'd be touching. He's got butterflies just from this. He doesn't know how he survived the kiss without going into shock.

It did feel like Alexander's electricity had coursed through him, completed some circuit and lit him up like a power grid. He wants to do it again.

"So," Alex says.

"So," John replies. "About earlier?"

"About earlier."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally did it! Next time: everybody talks about their feelings a lot.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated (and loved and treasured), so please let me know what you think!


	14. Divulge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Divulge (v.) - To make known (private or sensitive information).  
> "After months of dancing around the issue, the two made up their minds to divulge their secret at last."

The subway judders to a stop at Alex and John's platform. They have been silent for the past two minutes. John would be worried - he's never heard Alexander pause his flow of words for this long when there's something this important to say - but it really does seem like a conversation they ought to have at home.

If Alex still isn't talking when they reach the apartment, then he'll worry.

In the meantime, he walks next to Alexander and feels, once they emerge from the station, the brisk fall air of the city stinging his face. He takes a deep breath in, feels the burn in his lungs. Coming from South Carolina, it took him a long time to get used to New York City cold, but he's come to love it. Any excuse to wear giant fuzzy scarves. He's developed a collection over the past few years, and whenever he sees a particularly soft one, he just can't pass it up.

John's not sure whether Alexander has much in the way of warm clothes. He has a hoodie that he's worn in place of a jacket every day John's known him. Maybe he's just cold-tolerant, maybe John has to buy him a proper coat for Christmas. Only time will tell.

He unlocks the apartment door and they go through their coat-off, bags-down ritual. Alex marches over to the little kitchen table, sits down, and motions for John to take a seat across from him.  _Okay,_ John thinks.

_Okay. So we're doing this._

"About earlier," John repeats, their earlier conversation continued as though there hadn't been a pause.

"Right, yeah. You... you kissed me." He can hear the careful neutrality in this statement, and though it's short, John suddenly feels sure that Alex spent their whole walk home choosing those few words. Minimal emotion, maximal impact.

"That I did," John says. "I wasn't sure how far in the scene we were going, but it seemed like we were gonna get to the kiss part and I wasn't gonna stop you. I... got kinda into it, obviously."

"I could tell," Alex answers with a short laugh. "But, that said, is that indicative of something larger or what?"

"Something larger?"

Alexander swallows, takes the kind of deep breath he only takes when he's about to make a speech. John's head is going a million miles a minute, most of it being  _shit, shit, this is it, it's all over, this is the part where Alexander Hamilton never wants to see me again._

Some smaller, less anxious part of John is studying Alex's face, trying to memorize every line and dip and shade of brown contained in it. Sweeps of blackish-blue under his eyes from not sleeping enough. Darker brown spotting his chin in a pattern of stubble that's beginning to verge on actual facial hair. A spot of very light brown on his temple from some old scar, source unknown. Shadows, inky black, where his hair falls across his forehead.

_If nothing else, I love him._ The thought is in John's head and he doesn't know what it means. But it feels true.

Alex opens his mouth. John braces himself for a speech. Alexander's phone (set on the table, John doesn't know when it got there), starts buzzing rhythmically. Alexander glances at it, snatches it from the table, and jumps up. "It's Laf," he says. "I should take this. He never calls."

Right.

Lafayette.

John's eyes follow the sweeping curves of Alexander's motion as he drifts into the other room, phone pressed to his ear, a hurried "Bonsoir" escaping him. Of course, Lafayette, who probably only calls in case of emergency. Who needs Alex right now. And neither of them need John.

He wants something. He doesn't want Alex to be mad at him.  _If nothing else I love him_ , this time without any punctuation, syllables in his head.

John pulls the ice cube tray from the freezer and slips off to his room.

 

"What's wrong, man? You never call."

Monsieur Lafayette is leaning back against the door of his apartment with an unbent bobby pin in his right hand and a cell phone in his left. "Oui, this is... something like an emergency. I cannot remember who I have given my spare keys to anymore. You would not happen to have a key to my apartment, would you?"

"Uh... I don't think so, why?"

"Locked out. I have already tried picking the lock, but the lock will not be picked."

"Shit, man, I'm sorry, I - hey, wait, I have a key on my keyring that I don't recognize. It's absurdly tiny and gold. That sound like you?"

"That would be it," Laf confirms. His back is starting to hurt and he'd really like to be inside his apartment right now. "I know it is getting on evening, but could you come let me in? I do not enjoy sleeping in the hallway."

"Sure, no problem. I'll leave right now Wait, how many times have you had to sleep in the hallway?"

Lafayette laughs into the receiver and hangs up. He shifts angles incrementally, leans his head back, and waits for Alexander Hamilton to show up. Vaguely, he hopes he's not interrupting anything important.

 

"Hey, John?" Alex calls, pulling his hoodie on. "I gotta go let Laf into his apartment. Dude's a disaster, honestly. I shouldn't be long. You wanna come?"

"Nah," comes John's voice. It sounds like he's in his room. "I got work to do."

"Man after my own heart! Alright, see ya." Alexander walks out the front door, armed with a keyring. A few minutes ago, he knew exactly what he was going to say to John. Now, he's not so sure. Yeah, John Laurens kissed him, and yeah, that's going on his Greatest Hits list of moments to remember, but does it mean anything major? Alex still isn't sure. Plus there's the issue of John having a thing for someone (Alex is pretty sure it's Lafayette, but he can't say for certain). The more he thinks - and even the short trip to Lafayette's building gives him ample time to think - the worse of an idea admitting his feelings seems to be.

Still, Alex has never been good at hiding what he's feeling, and he thinks if he doesn't talk about it soon he may pop.

He almost trips over Laf in the hallway - dude's got his legs stretched out and he almost spans the whole hall. "Good to see you!" Laf crows. "I did not pull you away from any important meetings, I hope?"

"Nah," Alex says, leaning over Laf to unlock the door for him. "It's a good thing you called when you did, I think. I was on the verge of a major fuck-up, probably."

"Probably?"

"You really want the tragic backstory?"

Lafayette unfolds himself from the ground and ushers Alexander into his apartment with him. "I always want the tragic backstory, mon ami. What were you about to do?" He sits down in a chair and leans over to pat the couch. Alex groans. This feels too much like Freud-style psychotherapy for his taste. Still, it's Laf, and Laf is his friend, so he plays along and lies down on the couch.

"I suppose you already heard about rehearsal today."

"Non."

Alex sits up. "Huh. I saw Angelica leaving after it happened, I would have thought she'd have shared the good news with everybody by now. John Laurens kissed me. I mean, it was in the context of two characters from Much Ado About Nothing kissing, but still. Kind of a big deal."

He was expecting a cheer from Lafayette, or at least some expression of surprise and joy. Instead he gets a sigh of relief. "Finally. I was worried the kids' plan would not work. This has taken far too long. So are you two a... what is the term? Are you an object now?"

Alex snorts. "I think you're looking for 'are you an item?' But also no, we're not. We're friends, man, I'm not gonna fuck that up."

Lafayette groans. "Go home, Alexander. Get out of my house."

"I just got here."

"I know. Go talk to your Laurens, for God's sake. You two are literally killing me."

And with that cryptic goodbye, he shoos Alexander from the apartment, calling "Tell me how it goes!" as he shuts the door behind him. If Alex didn't know better, he'd be hoping. Everyone seems to think he and John would work well together - Alex included. He wants to believe that John shares his love, that John kissed him for a real reason, but it just doesn't make sense. It's improbable enough that someone like John is friends with someone like him. 

Alex doesn't want to hope for the impossible, too.

 

John's shirt is damp. The water from the melting ice cubes is trickling down his arms and soaking into the cotton. He's gone through four already. Alex was sort of right, it does take the edge off of things, but he was sort of wrong too. It's not the same. John's considering going for the cabinet under the bathroom sink when he hears the front door open. He presses ice cube number five harder against his forearm and silently hopes Alex won't come in.

_It was too much to hope for,_ he thinks.  _Alex is too much for me, too much for anybody. I've been too lucky already, having him in my apartment and my life and everywhere I go. It's been too good, too happy. Alexander Hamilton is a goddamn force of nature, and forces of nature are too important._

_I don't deserve him._

Against his fervent hopes, Alex knocks on the door. Against his better judgement, John shouts, "C'mon in." He pushes the ice cube tray behind him, as though that will make any difference.

"John," Alexander says, that's all he says. He sits down next to John and lays a hand on his arm, the cold, wet arm, and watches him with coppery eyes. They're both waiting. John doesn't want to be the one to speak first, because if he lets air past his pressed-together lips, the air will contain everything he feels for Alexander. He waits, feeling his arm heating up under Alex's warm palm.

"John," he repeats. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yes and no?" It comes out as a question. "I want to talk about it. I don't want to know what happens after I talk about it."

"I feel ya," Alex says, sounding almost sad. "C'mon, let's put away the ice first. Talking happens after."

John agrees. Into the kitchen, ice into the freezer, back into his room. Alexander sits down on his bed without asking first, pats the space next to him, and for some reason that's what gives John the courage to open his mouth.

"About earlier," he says, and then laughs. "If I had a nickel for every time we've said that today. So I kissed you. Because our characters were supposed to kiss."

"That's what I figured."

"But also because that's a good excuse for doing something I wanted to do anyway. Don't say anything, just listen for a second. I get it if you want to move out. I get it if you feel weird around me. But I wanted to do that. I've been wanting to do that since I met you. I want to do that again, if you'll let me. I just..." John trails off, unable to make words express the depth of emotion for Alexander he's got in him. He flails his arms in hopes that that will express the same thing.

Alex is staring owl-eyed at him, and his pupils are so big that his eyes look black. He's leaning away a little, never a good sign, and doing nothing but staring. When he manages to articulate something, it's him blinking twice and saying, incredulous, "You're kidding."

"I sometimes wish I was, but no. Uh... what makes you say that?"

_It was too much to hope for._

 

_[From: Javier!!!!!!!] Hey Cam. you awake?_

_[To: Javier!!!!!!!] It's like 7:30. My grandma's still up._

_[From: Javier!!!!!!!] Hey, just checking. my older sister goes to bed at like 6 pm most nights._

_[To: Javier!!!!!!!] Phew. I could never do that. I can't even fall asleep until like midnight._

_[From: Javier!!!!!!!] Well, glad you're awake. I just wanted to say thanks. the milkshakes after rehearsal were fun. we should do that again soon._

_[To: Javier!!!!!!!] Are you free Friday afternoon?_

_[From: Javier!!!!!!!] Is this you asking me on a date?_

_[To: Javier!!!!!!!] I'm so sorry i didn't mean to be presumptuous. You can say no. sorry._

_[From: Javier!!!!!!!] Hey, no, it's okay. i was kinda hoping today was a date, actually, so it's double-awesome if Friday is, too._

_[From: Javier!!!!!!!] If that's alright with you, I mean._

Cam, surrounded by pages of her script but not actually memorizing anything at the moment, smiles at her phone. She wonders how Nicola and Elisa are doing right now. She wonders how A-Ham and Laurens are doing right now. She wonders if she and Javier will end up like them. She hopes so. Her head is bowed over the screen so her hair falls in her face, but she pushes her bangs back and tucks them behind her ears.

_[To: Javier!!!!!!!] It's a date, then. :)_

 

Alexander Hamilton cannot trust his senses. Here appears to be John Laurens, sitting cross-legged on a bed in front of him and saying, with a straight face, that he'd like to kiss him again.  But of course that can't be real, can it? It can't be.

At this point, Alex barely cares. "I just... you're really not kidding?"

"Nope."

"Okay. I'm having a hard time believing this, is all. Because I've wanted to do that, too. Since the day we met in the freaking Staples if I'm honest. And all this time I thought you couldn't possibly want that, because you're John Laurens, you're the human embodiment of sunshine, so I'm having a couple processing errors right now. But I will gladly kiss you again if you're sure that's what you want, because I've been dying to do that for months."

"I'm... what the hell, Alex?"

"I'm wondering the same thing. C'mere."

He kisses John Laurens for the second time in one day, and it's actually better now that he's expecting it. He doesn't have to waste time trying to react. He can slip below the surface of conscious thought and into his feelings for John, all around him, against him, nothing important, nothing pressing except lips against his. He tries something he's been imagining for ages and pushes his fingers into John's curls, using them as leverage to tilt his head back. His hair is full of tangles, but soft and fine, and Alex combs his fingers through it. John's hand is on his chest. John's arm is around his waist.

_He is too good to be true,_ Alexander thinks, and he doesn't want to be a part of reality right now.

John is already talking when he pulls away. "So you're telling me," he says, flicking hair away from his eyes, "that we could have been doing that for  _months?_ "

"Sure does seem like it," Alex agrees with a laugh. "But I thought you just thought of me as a platonic friend. To be honest I kinda thought you had a thing for Laf."

"You gotta be kidding me, Alex. I can feel myself light up like a goddamn firework every time you're around. You are definitely not just a platonic friend to me. Also I thought you had a thing for Laf, because of the whole crying thing."

"To be fair," Alex says, "I would be crying if I found out you had a crush on Asshole Thomas Jefferson."

"Well he is pretty cute..."

Alexander shoves John gently in the shoulder. "Shut up, man, don't even joke with me right now. I can't believe you couldn't tell how into you I am. Every time you smile I feel myself smiling. The number of times I had to physically restrain myself from kissing you is insane."

"Well you won't have to any longer."

"And thank God for that," Alexander adds, leaning in for another kiss.

They do not get to sleep until very late that night, and they both wake up in John's bed.

"Hey, John?"

"Hmm?" He's still half-asleep. Alex has never fully experienced his early-morning hair before and it's a thing of beauty, a wild, unraveling nest of curls that get everywhere.

"Is it too early to use the love word?"

John rolls over onto his side so he's facing Alex. "It's never too early for the love word."

"Sweet, because I love you. A lot."

"I love you too, Alexander."

The routine passes as usual that morning. Alexander makes breakfast, they discuss various and sundry topics (plans for the day, the worst ice cream flavor, how soon is too soon to set up a Secret Santa among the Liberty teachers), they brush their teeth, Alex steals the markers from John's bag while he's not looking.

But they hold hands on the subway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: can everything stay cute for long? No.
> 
> Reading comments makes my day every time, so let me know what you think!


	15. Disquiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disquiet (n.) - A feeling of anxiety or worry.  
> "John felt a certain disquiet when he checked his phone and saw the three new messages."

Alexander smiles. During class, during his lunch break (in which he works instead of eating lunch), during more class, during his free block. What he's saying or doing doesn't matter. He smiles as he does it. After the final bell rings for the day, he packs up, fishes out his copy of Much Ado About Nothing, and goes across the hall to retrieve John. For some reason, they haven't seen each other all day. It's fine, though - Alex thinks it's probably good he had alone time to get most of the  _holy crap, I can kiss John Laurens whenever I want to_ out of his system.

John is smiling too when Alex knocks on the doorframe. "Hey," he says, spinning away from his desk and standing up.

"Hey yourself," Alex says. "You ready for rehearsal?"

"As I'll ever be. I'm still struggling with the idea that we discovered our latent feelings for each other because a bunch of high schoolers thought we'd be cute together."

Grinning, Alex loops an arm around John's waist. "And are we not?"

"We so are."

As per usual, most of the cast is already in the auditorium when John and Alex finally make it there. They must sprint at top speed from their last-period classes to get there so fast, but it's nice to have the cast already warming up when they get in there. John holds the door but fits himself right back to Alexander's side once they're both through (which Alex is inordinately pleased about).

Nicola, who's by the door grabbing her director's binder from her book bag, takes one look at them and nods in approval. "Shakespeare Dorks, may I have your attention for a moment?" she calls, voice bouncing around the auditorium. Alexander can't help a swell of pride that his ridiculous nickname for their cast stuck, even to Nicola.

Like so many gazelles on the savanna, students pick their heads up from what they're doing and swivel to look at Nicola. She's wearing her customary blazer and jeans, along with a self-satisfied smile. "It worked," she says flatly.

Cheers rise up from around the room. In surveying the faces before him, he watches Javier clapping and Cam beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder -  _when did that happen?_ Elisa is giving them a double thumbs-up all the way from the lighting booth. Vic is wolf-whistling, but it's ineffective because he's also smiling. Eloise and Joe share a celebratory high-ten, all smiles, before turning away from each other awkwardly, still all smiles. And there, next to him, John is looking right at Alexander like he just gave him the world, a tiny blue marble in a box.

Something Eliza Schuyler once said to him in passing sticks in his head right now.  _Look around,_ he thinks.  _Look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now._

"I feel like we should give a speech or something," John jokes, just loud enough for Alex to hear him.

"Nah, I'm saving that for when I win a Pulitzer or something." He raises his voice. "You guys are great matchmakers! Now let's start rehearsing. From the top of Act One, today, alright?"

Someone groans out a "Fiiiine, mom," sending everyone into gales of laughter. Unable to resist, Alex taps out a text to Eliza.

_[To: SchuySis2 (Eliza)] look around look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now!!!!!!!_

"Who're you texting?" John asks, leaning over. Alex shows him the phone, and John leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and pausing to think for a moment. "Yeah," he says finally. "Yeah, we really are."

 

John recognizes now that he was probably pitched as an advisor for Much Ado because the kids wanted him and Alex together. He's never had much to do at rehearsal - he can be loud on a stage, but he's not a natural actor, and he doesn't have nearly the depth of Shakespeare knowledge that Alex (or even Nicola) has. He'll help anybody who asks for it, and he's run a lot of lines with people.

But mostly, he watches.

He sees a lot during rehearsal. He hears people stumbling over their lines as they flip through scripts. He notices who grabs their rudimentary blocking quickly and who still runs into imaginary set pieces. He watches Alexander and Nicola giving direction on opposite sides of the room, crossing paths a dozen times but always trusting the other person to say the right thing and thus never overlapping. He hears Vic trying twelve different variations on his own voice, going for, in his words, something "naturally villainous." He observes Bella (playing Margaret) pacing around by the auditorium door, murmuring her lines to herself. He sees Eloise and Joe reciting their lines to each other - and he sees them staring when the other one is looking away.

"How lucky we are," John mumbles to himself, pulling out his phone, which is buzzing with a notification. Just Facebook. Still, now that he's got his phone out he has to check. He scrolls through several posts before realizing he hasn't updated his profile to indicate the fact that he is  _in a relationship with Alexander Hamilton, holy shit, this is amazing,_ so he does so - minus the "holy shit" part.

"Hey, Laurens, I need you," Alexander calls from across the room. Hurriedly, John shuts his phone off and heads over.

"What's up?"

Alex sticks his chin out to indicate Eloise and Joe. "These two are doing something really right but I can't tell what it is. Can you just watch and see if you can tell me what's good?"

"Yeah, sure. I dunno if I'm qualified, but."

He watches Eloise and Joe practicing the "against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner" scene. It's partway through the play, when they're still supposed to hate each other on the surface but Benedick is convinced Beatrice is into him. A little matching of wits.

While he's got little confidence in his abilities to pinpoint what makes good acting, John hits upon what they're doing right almost right away. "They're doing the in-love body language," John announces only three lines in. "Remember how you were telling me about that one debate thing you guys do? And you showed me all the different poses? That's what they're doing. With the leaning and everything."

Alex grins, elbows John. "You know, I think that's it. Nice little bit of foreshadowing without saying a word! Thanks, John. Keep it up, guys. Keep practicing. We're all gonna run Act One together on stage in two minutes, so get ready."

He lets Alex lead him back toward their seats in the front row, where Nicola is already reclining (and texting, oddly - she never pulls her phone out at rehearsal). "Nice catch," Alex whispers. "I never woulda gotten that. Which, to be honest, is probably half because it's those two."

John snorts. "Yeah, no kidding. I swear if either of them makes one more sarcastic joke about the other..."

"Oh, c'mon, it's fun."

"You're just saying that cuz you'd do the same thing," John teases, kissing Alexander on the cheek.

"And don't you love it?" Alex asks, turning his head to catch John on the lips instead.

 

_[To: Elisa <3] I'm still having a hard time believing this plan actually worked._

_[To: Elisa <3] I'm happy it did, though. Proud of you! xx_

_[From: Elisa <3] haha yeah_

_[To: Elisa <3] You done stage-managing for the moment? You can come sit with me._

No response.

Nicola turns around in her seat to look at the lighting booth where Elisa last was. She doesn't see Elisa there, nor at the edge of the stage with a marked-up script. Nicola shuts her phone off and shoves it back in her blazer pocket.

She's not a big fan of waiting. Might as well do it with her cell phone off.

 

Angelica Schuyler is just on her way to grab Eliza and leave when Alexander and John come out of the auditorium. They're caught in a stream of kids who flow naturally despite being weighted down by scripts and backpacks and sports equipment and the other curiosities that find their way into the hands of a high schooler daily. 

"Yo," John says, putting a hand up toward her.

"Yo yourself," she says with a nod. "I'm taking Liza out to dinner, you two wanna come with?"

"Heck yeah we do!" Alexander crows. "Can I ask what the occasion is?" The boys are picking their way through the mostly-dissipated stream now. Angelica waits for them across the hallway, hands on hips.

"I dunno," she says. "It's Tuesday evening. You need an occasion?"

"You know I don't," he replies.

Angelica makes small talk with the boys as they retrieve Eliza from her office. Much to everyone's amusement, they find her dancing around with earbuds in, faintly leaking some indie-pop song. All together, they have to shout her name at the top of their lungs to get her to open her eyes and realize  _well shit, there's someone else in here._

Over dinner (Korean food), Angelica interrogates the boys about their burgeoning relationship. "So how do you feel," she begins, leaning forward, pressing her fingers together, and letting her chopsticks dangle, "about the fact that you're together because a bunch of high schoolers made you their OTP?"

"Hey, be fair, Angel," Eliza says. "They're also our OTP."

"Point taken. Still though, the fact remains - if I have it correct from my sources - that a bunch of high schoolers set you up with a Shakespeare play and that's all it took. How do you two feel about that?" Angelica holds out one chopstick to each of them, giving John and Alex their own microphones.

"Well, Angelica," John says, leaning in toward the chopstick and affecting a daytime talk show host voice. "I gotta say, at first I didn't give a fuck. After all, once I kissed Alexander everything up here just shut down." He taps his temple for emphasis.

"Interesting, interesting," Angelica says, parroting John's daytime talk show host voice. "Alexander, anything to add?"

"Let me tell you, Angelica," Alex replies, adding a voice of his own, "I was in the same boat as John for awhile there. I couldn't think straight!"

"Or do anything else straight," Eliza comments mildly, rounding out the quartet of talk show voices. Angelica tries desperately to keep a straight face (hah), but she breaks down giggling. Eliza's hilarious, with or without trying to be. Angelica struggles to keep the chopstick microphones in place.

"You got that right! I'm gay as hell. But in the end, I'll say it, I'm proud of our kids for having the ambition, the drive, and the planning skills to figure out what they wanted and make it happen."

"Well I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today," Eliza cuts in. "Thanks so much to our special guests, John and Alexander. And now over to Jerry with sports."

Angelica retracts her chopsticks and manages all of three seconds before Eliza starts shivering with laughter, which prompts her to let out the guffaw she's been holding in, which makes Alexander and John start cracking up, leaning on each other for support.

"Why have they not given us a show yet?" Eliza asks Angelica, struggling to keep a hold on her own chopsticks.

Angelica smiles. "I dunno, sister dearest. Pitch it to MSNBC, they'll love us."

"Can I call dibs on being Jerry with sports?" Alexander asks.

"Who calls dibs?" John asks.

"Who doesn't call dibs?" Alex retorts, flinging an arm around John's shoulders. "It's an efficient system."

"For example, dibs on Alexander," Angelica interjects.

"Doesn't even count!" John says. "I've had dibs on Alexander since I first laid eyes on him. Did I ever tell you two that the first time we met, he was wearing a t-shirt that was also a pun?"

Eliza rubs her temples like this information has just given her a killer headache, and Angelica pinches the bridge of her nose. "John," she says, failing to sound serious, "Why the fuck are you dating this disaster?"

"Hey, hey, hey," Alex says. "Before you pass judgement, it's a Grapes of Wrath pun. I'm literary! Also John wears that shirt, like, every weekend. It's barely even mine anymore since we started mixing up our laundry."

"You weren't supposed to  _tell_ them that!"

Throughout dinner, Angelica laughs until her sides hurt. She's friends with two terribly dorky people who can't seem to hide the fact that they're in love. She's got her sister by her side and some good food clutched in her chopstick microphones. She counts herself lucky, though she refuses to get used to it.

Getting used to it never ends well.

 

_[To: Elisa <3] Javier just told me that he and Cam are going to go see a movie tomorrow, and do we want to come?_

_[To: Elisa <3] Update: the movie is going to be something to do with superheroes. I'd like to go if you would!_

_[From: Elisa <3] oh yea she asked me abt that this morning_

_[To: Elisa <3] We don't have to go if you don't want to, obviously. I've never been on a double date before, so I figured it'd be interesting._

_[To: Elisa <3] I swear, woman, do you respond to a text and then turn your phone off right after? No offense, of course. Just wondering._

_[To: Elisa <3] Anyway, just let me know tomorrow. I've got work to do. Goodnight, sleep tight, I love you! xx_

 

 

As is becoming a pattern for them, John and Alexander decide to walk home after dinner. For a few moments Alex argues for the subway, since it's faster and he's got a lot of work to do, but the chill feels so good after the hot, stuffy restaurant. 

"And besides," John argues, "with the delays that we've run into lately? We'll be better off on foot."

"Okay," Alexander agrees.

It's not that he's been working less these days - after all, John's got no clue how much he worked before he moved in. Even since he started living in John's apartment, he seems to have produced the same volume of writing and planning as he always has. But he's not doing it in the same way now. He takes breaks. He sometimes spends his precious time having fun or helping John or reading. With the right convincing from John (at least, if last night is anything to go by), he even sleeps.

Whether it's correlation or causation, John doesn't know, but he can't help being a little bit proud of himself for helping. Alexander's dark circles weren't as dark this morning, and sometimes that's what counts.

"So hey, Thanksgiving's coming up," Alex says offhandedly. "The day we celebrate by giving thanks and ignoring genocide."

"Damn straight," John agrees. "Or well, not straight, but..."

"Aw, shut up, man."

"Why'd you mention it?"

Alexander shrugs. "I was gonna invite you to spend it with me before I realized you've probably got family of your own, not to mention I haven't even cleared the plus-one."

John's never heard Alexander talk about his family before. He perks up his ears. "Yeah? Where are your parents from? I'm sure they'd love to have me around, I'm a delight. Besides, it'll be amazing to meet all of them. They cool about all the gay stuff? You got siblings?" He's got more questions, but he cuts himself off there.

Alex winces. "Uh, missing the mark a little. Washington invited me to spend it with him and his wife because he sorta found out that my entire family is dead or disappeared. But I'd have to ask if you could come. And I'm sure they do Thanksgiving like nobody's business in South Carolina, yeah?"

"Well, yeah, good food. Four little siblings, plus aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. It's a big deal. Uh, can I ask what you mean, dead or disappeared?"

He explains in the nonchalant way of someone who's really hurting. "Dad left when I was ten. Ma died when I was twelve. My brother James and I moved in with our cousin, who promptly committed suicide. Lost touch with James. Whole rest of my family - that I know of - is dead. I've checked. A lot."

John stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and since his hand is still clutched in Alex's it forces him to pull up short too. "I'm sorry," he says. That's all he says, but he pulls Alexander into a hug so tight it nearly crushes him. John's never lost a family member, not like that, but he knows he could. He feels it every time he's back home, what it would feel like to lose all of them in one go.

They stand on the sidewalk, hugging with crushing force, when John's phone vibrates in his pocket, insistent notifications. He feels Alexander smile into the crook of his neck and fish the phone out of John's back pocket for him, never breaking the hug.

"Better get that," Alex murmurs.

"Mm-hm."

Finally they break away, the chilling wind cutting between them as soon as they pull apart, and John scans his phone. Three new notifications, all messages, all from his father. John gets the familiar prick of panic he always gets when his father is involved, but calms himself enough to glance over the first one. Proper capitalization, proper punctuation (that can't be good), and the word Facebook.

Up until this moment, he'd forgotten that Henry Laurens has a Facebook.

John shoves his phone back into his pocket. He can't read those texts. He knows what they'll say. The prick of panic is becoming a full-on stab, puncturing him right between the ribs and making his heart race. "Hey, Alex?" he manages to say, forcing his voice not to shake. "You wanna ask Washington about that plus-one?"

"Yeah, sure. Anything for you." He grins, dazzling, but just as soon as it starts the corners of his mouth fall again. "Hey, you okay?"

John swallows.

_Is in a relationship with Alexander Hamilton._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chanting* PAIN PAIN PAIN
> 
> Hey, so comments are my favorite part, and I read every one of them, so let me know your thoughts!


	16. Dearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dearth (n.) - A scarcity or lack of something.  
> "There was a distinct dearth of Thanksgiving options for the boys, but they were perfectly happy to spend it with the Washingtons."

_[To: Elisa <3] Hey, babe - I'm worried about you. Javier says Cam is too. _ _Have you talked to Cam recently?_

_[From: Elisa <3] no sry_

_[To: Elisa <3] It's okay, I don't want you to feel like you have to apologize. We're all just worried. Is everything all right at home?_

_[To: Elisa <3] Elisa?_

 

On the couch, Alexander is composing a well-thought-out email to Principal Washington requesting that John Laurens come to Thanksgiving dinner with him. He's wording this email specifically to conceal how fucking terrified he is right now. John's sitting at the other end of the couch, reading something on his phone and mouthing the words. He hasn't made a sound since they walked through the front door, unless you count his breathing.

Fast breathing.

Alex has tried everything he can think of to reassure John (who he discovered the hard way does  _not_ want to be touched right now). Finally, he asked, "Should I email Washington about bringing you to Thanksgiving?" and John had looked up at him, away from his phone, and nodded.

So that's what Alex is doing. What else can he do?

He sends the email and wonders whether it should have been longer, or it should have contained different words, or it shouldn't have been written so informally. In reality he's certain Washington will say yes - the man acts more like a dad, a real dad, every day - but still he worries. 

"John?" he murmurs, trying again. He jumps, startled, and looks guiltily up from his phone.

"Yeah?" John asks. It's a real word. Alexander wants to hug him.

"Just checking. I sent the message to Washington, so I'm betting you can look forward to turkey with our boss."

"Thanks."

"So are you... are you... okay?" Alex, who never struggles for vocabulary, is having a difficult time with this. He doesn't want to say anything to send John back into whatever silent hell is on his phone screen, but he needs to know. This is a recurring theme of his shared life with John. Needing to know.

John shakes his head. "Who knows, at this point?" he asks rhetorically. "It's... I did a dumb thing on Facebook and now my dad knows. I can read you the messages if you want."

 _His dad knows what?_ With more than a little trepidation Alex says, "Sure, yeah, if you're up to it." He scootches a few inches closer to John, still not daring to get close enough to touch, just in case. John gives him a smile, weary but appreciative, and begins reading.

"John." He stops. "You know it's serious when he's not calling me Jacky. Anyway, I'll start again. John, I stumbled across a new addition to your Facebook today, and I do not understand why you have chosen to broadcast your poor lifestyle decisions to the world. I know you are well aware that our family prides itself on high moral standards, and to be so blatant about your lack thereof is unforgivable."

Alex doesn't speak, not yet.

"I am disappointed both that you have chosen homosexuality and that you have disgraced our family this way. I don't want your younger siblings looking up to you and seeing this. As it stands, either you will remove this shameful post from your Facebook and end things with your 'boyfriend' - he put boyfriend in quotes by the way - or you will no longer be welcome at our family table. The choice is yours, John."

He scrolls down to the last message. "Please, don't bother making the trip home for Thanksgiving. You obviously need time to think."

Alexander just sits for a moment as John puts his phone away, looking almost too calm. He's starting to see the outline of a joke on the tip of John's tongue, something dry that will leave them both chuckling and wishing for some kind of refreshment, something that will turn the humid pause to a puff of dust. He doesn't want John to make that joke. He's too used to seeing people downplay their pain. He's too used to downplaying his own pain.

He's not letting John do that.

"I'm sorry," he says. "That's some unfair bullshit right there. Is your whole family unaccepting or just your dad?"

John swallows. "Some of them are better than others. You gotta understand, it's the South. But my little siblings have been good. My sister Mary knows - she hasn't told Pa, obviously, since he's only just figuring it out. I think he's sort of always known but he was prepared to pretend I was nice and normal so long as I didn't talk about it."

Alex nods sagely. "And do you know what you're gonna do yet?"

He collapses, all of a sudden, against Alexander's chest. There is no dry joke, no flippant comment, no eerie calm. John lets out a noise that sounds like a sob. "No. No, I don't. I... I can't lose them, Alex, don't you see? You, you lose everything and you keep on kicking. I'm not that strong. I'd die before I lose them."

 _You'd die before doing a lot of things,_ Alex thinks, but it's neither here nor there - he would too - so he doesn't say it aloud. "I know. I know. You're strong, John, you're so strong, but no one's saying you have to lose them. You don't have to. We can fix this. You said your sister knows?"

John snuffles, not removing his face from Alexander's shirt. "Yeah, she's great about it. She's in college right now, women's college. I love her. I think all my brothers and sisters would be open-minded about it, I just... I can't. I can't risk it. And Pa... I don't know what to do."

"Do you wanna change your relationship status back to single?"

"I don't know. I don't wanna cave to him. I've been doing that forever. I can't think about this right now."

"Okay. Let's go to bed, okay? It's late. If you want I can read you parts of my essays and you won't have to think about anything at all. And then we'll go to school tomorrow, and I'll steal back the markers - we should set up some sort of shared-custody program - and we'll teach and have rehearsal and everything will be okay. Does that sound good?"

John snuffles again. "When did you get so good at comforting people?"

The truth dawns on Alex. "I'm just saying what I used to wish someone would tell me."

 

John's alarm doesn't wake him up on Wednesday morning, but the smells of breakfast do. Alex normally does something quick and simple, eggs or toast, but today it smells like pancakes. John hasn't had pancakes in god knows how long.

He sits up, feels the kind of throb in his head that one gets the morning after a good cry. It's okay. There's pancakes and there's Alexander, and though he feels naive for doing so, he believes Alex when he says that this is not an either/or choice.

"You spoil me," he says, padding barefoot into the pancake-laden kitchen.

"Who says this is for you?" Alex retorts with a grin, popping a blueberry into his mouth. "Maybe I'm just really into blueberry pancakes."

"I thought you didn't like sweet stuff for breakfast."

As he sits down at the table, Alex deposits a plate of pancakes in front of him. "Well, no, I don't. So maybe this is all for you. Sue me, John Laurens."

"I'm gonna get you with such a lawsuit, you won't know what hit you."

Alex tosses a napkin at him. "Pancakes, probably."

After breakfast, they spend a little while scrounging up clothes (they keep getting mixed up in each other's rooms, each other's laundry piles) and making sure they're equipped for the day. John swears Alexander could bring the whole apartment to school with him and still feel as though he's missing something.

They kiss, once, on the subway.

John Laurens can't shake the feeling that everything's gonna be okay.

 

_[To: LisLis] I'm worried about you_

_[To: LisLis] Nicola and Javier and Vic are too_

_[To: LisLis] You gotta talk to us, okay?_

_[From: LisLis] cam u understand why it's ironic that u want me to talk to u guys right?_

_[To: LisLis] I know, I know. But we're all getting lonely without your voice. What's wrong? And why are you avoiding Nicola?_

_[From: LisLis] i'm not_

_[To: LisLis] Look, I'm not good at this. But we miss you._

_[To: LisLis] Whatever it is, you can tell us._

_[To: LisLis] Elisa?_

 

"Alexander!" Washington booms as they're walking past his office. "John! You two have a moment?"

"Yeah, of course," Alex says, speaking for the both of them. He and John have talked a lot about Washington. (Dad Washington, they call him sometimes, because that's really how he acts. A dad to the students, a dad to the staff, a dad to parents and little siblings.)

"So, Thanksgiving," Washington starts. "I'd be delighted to have you both. But I feel I should warn you - Martha and I split up the cooking, and neither of us are very good."

Alex looks at John, who looks at Alex. They don't burst out laughing so much as slip into it, a little at a time. Washington glances back and forth between them, not in on the joke but not willing to stop it. If he's honest with himself, Alexander isn't sure what the joke is.

Maybe the joke is that they're spending Thanksgiving with their boss.

Maybe the joke is that Alexander is really good at cooking.

Maybe the joke is that they're here at all, two friends, two lovers, plus a really nice dude who happens to be their boss slash fake dad.

Maybe the joke is a pun one of them heard earlier.

"I'd be happy to help cook, sir," Alex offers.

"He's really good at it," John adds. "He made pancakes this morning. Though, of course, it'd be super weird to have blueberry pancakes for your Thanksgiving dinner, although not necessarily a bad thing."

"Well I'd love the help, son," Washington says. "Maybe save the pancakes for another time, though."

Alexander gives him a salute.

During his classes that day, everything seems normal. Writers' Workshop is a little bit weird - they're all peer-editing their rhetorical analysis papers today, and it's bizarrely quiet. Every group he goes by is discussing, of course, because it might kill any given Writers' Workshop kid  _not_ to discuss something, but there's not the usual rousing rowdiness that he's come to expect from these kids.

Several of his other classes, as if to make up for the atypical murmurs of his favorite group of students, are extra-loud. He finishes out the day with a headache that neither caffeine nor Aleve can fix. When John strolls in after the final bell to escort him to rehearsal, Alex is poking at the side of his head with a pencil as though that will help.

"Something up?" John asks.

"Headache."

"Is putting a pencil to your temple supposed to help a headache?"

Alexander snorts. "I doubt it. Everybody's been loud today, and you know I hate silence, but my head's been throbbing ever since Writers' Workshop. Also, side note, that was weird too, because they were  _way_ too quiet. I kept expecting to hear roars of laughter or debate or something, but no, nothing but plain, respectable murmurs. I was kinda disappointed, but now I'm worried that something happened. I kinda wanna go home and take a bunch of pain meds."

"So go home and take a bunch of pain meds, I'll run rehearsal."

"Out of the question," Alex retorts. "I made a commitment to advise this play, and dammit, I'm going to advise this play. Plus I can ask our Hero or our stage manager what was up during Writers' Workshop."

Alexander sees the look of concern flit across John's face and shoves him gently in the shoulder. "Quit worrying about me, Laurens. I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, I know," John says, kissing him on the forehead and making butterflies stir up in the pit of Alex's belly. "But you shouldn't have to all the time."

"Let's just go to rehearsal."

As they walk, arms around each other, Alexander thinks. He has a headache and he's worried: about his students, about the state of the economy, about all the work he has to do, about the play, about John (always about John). But for some reason, he can't shake the feeling that everything's going to be okay.

 

_[To: Elisa <3] Where are you?_

_[To: Elisa Mendes] Hey it's javier. where are you?_

_[To: LisLis] Elisa? A-ham and laurens are looking for you. We're running act three and we need our stage manager. U okay?_

_[To: Elisa <3] Babe at least tell me where you are, okay? I'm worried about you and I can't help if you won't tell me what's going on!_

_[To: Elisa <3] I hate making speeches without you here to hear them._

_[To: Elisa Mendes] hey it's javier again. seriously where are you? we all need you._

 

_[To: Nicola <3; Wham Bam Cam; Javier] guys chill i'm fine_

 

_[To: Elisa <3] THAT IS NOT AN EXPLANATION_

_[To: Elisa <3] Elisa?_

_[To: Elisa Mendes] Elisa?_

_[To: LisLis] Elisa?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There most certainly won't be another chapter up until Monday, unfortunately. So have fun with this cliffhanger!
> 
> I love reading comments!


	17. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solace (n.) - Comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness.  
> "Though many of the experiences were different, the attendees of Thanksgiving at the Washingtons' found solace in what they had in common."

"With all due respect, sir, have you even met him?"

Hamilton is leaning over Washington's desk, palms flat against the wood and fingers splayed, like he's preparing to jump right over it, or maybe on top of it. At times like this, Alex wishes he were a little taller. It's hard for a small guy to cut an imposing figure without a soapbox to stand on.

Principal Washington sighs. "Yes, Alexander, I was there when he was hired, remember? And like him or not, it's not as though his promotion is affecting you. I've never even seen you eat lunch."

Alexander throws up his hands. "I'm just saying, with our limited resources at this school, I guess I don't understand the point of giving the head food service job to an asshole like Charles Lee."

"Luckily for you," Washington says, sounding a bit testy, "I do. Look, Alexander, go home. I'll see you for Thanksgiving tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright. See you tomorrow. Sorry," he replies, even though he's not sorry. He feels like he's crossed a line, and the smart thing to do with Washington is just apologize. He knows Washington can tell he doesn't mean it. He also knows Washington appreciates the gesture anyway.

There's no rehearsal today - it's the day before a four-day weekend, no way anybody could focus on memorizing lines - so Alex finds John still in his classroom, grading two-page papers with his brows furrowed, a pink pen in his hand and another tucked through his bun. Alexander pauses in the doorway to marvel at him, the way the clouded grey light from the classroom's one window still makes him shine, the way his nose is scrunched up because of his focus.

"Ready to head home?" Alex asks, still leaning in the doorway.

John looks up, appearing spooked for a moment before relaxing his shoulders. "Yeah, of course. Lemme get my stuff together. You psyched for Thanksgiving tomorrow?"

"As a holiday? No. As an excuse to cook? Yes. I think Washington's pissed at me, though."

"Bullshit. He could never be pissed at his favorite son."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Alex says, striding over to help John pack his things into his messenger bag. "I was griping at him about Charles Lee."

"Ugh, I hate that guy."

"Exactly! Lee got promoted for... some reason, I dunno. Like, I wouldn't even be pissed if we had the money to go around, but the school clearly doesn't! So of all the people, why that dick?"

"Search me," John says with a laugh. Things seem to be getting more normal with him lately - or maybe less normal, though Alex shudders to think that John's normal is sad and grey and cold. Either way, he's better. He says he's not worried about his dad, not yet, and Alexander is inclined to believe him.

What else is there to do?

They speed-walk to the nearest subway entrance. The late-autumn chill that's been scratching at the air for weeks now has finally pervaded every gust and every naked, jolting tree branch. Alex puts up his hood and yanks his hands into his sleeves. John pulls his scarf (he owns so many, and they all look so warm) up over his nose and pulls Alexander close to him to thwart the cold. Despite the temperature, the clouds are beginning to part, and slices of hesitantly buttery sunlight are patching the sidewalk.

"So," Alexander says conversationally as they enter the (nasty-smelling, but much warmer) subway. "Just how bad of a cook do you think Washington is?"

John's laugh sounds like birds and chimes and sunshine and spring. Kissing him, he tastes like spring too.

 

_[To: LisLis] You haven't been in school for two days. Which I'm sure you know, but we're all worried_

_[To: LisLIs] You're never absent. I remember that time, freshman year, you came into school when you had bronchitis because we had a German test, but you were coughing so much that everybody was distracted and he had to postpone it._

_[To: LisLis] I miss you. I'm not as brave at school without my best friend._

_[To: LisLis] I saw Nicola crying in the bathroom the other day. Nicola the Great was crying. She's worried about you too, maybe the most. (Also, Principal Washington says it's cool for me to use the girls' bathroom!!!!!!)_

_[From: LisLis] if i'm lucky i'll see u all after thxgiving_

_[To: LisLIs] If you're lucky?_

 

_[From: Cam N.] Hey, Nicola? Elisa just texted me something weird._

_[To: Cam N.] Weird how?_

_{From: Cam N.] "if i'm lucky i'll see u all after thxgiving"_

_[To: Cam N.] If she's lucky?_

_[From: Cam N.] That's what I said._

 

"John?" Alexander calls from his bedroom. "Help."

"I'm sure jeans are fine, Alex," John calls back, sure of what Alexander needs help with. He's been agonizing over what to wear for the past half hour, and John can hear constant mumbling coming from his room.

"Just come look."

John pushes himself off the couch, dog-earing the page in his book. The door to Alex's room is open. He's wearing a green button-down but no pants, and he's looking mournfully at the pair of jeans and the pair of khakis laid out on his bed. John, unable to stop himself from giggling, is met with a look of betrayal that only seems half-fake.

"I just don't know what's worse, too casual or too formal!" Alex moans.

Gesturing to his own legs, John says, "Like I said, pretty sure jeans are fine. Washington said nothing fancy, right?"

"Yeah, but you'll look great and like you belong even if you're not wearing anything," he grumbles.

"Me wearing nothing later can be arranged," John says, bumping Alexander's hip with his own, "but only if you put some pants on and get moving. I'm pretty sure Washington isn't cool with people being late."

"I'm never late," Alex insists, but he tugs his jeans on fast enough that he almost trips over himself. John steadies him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I can tell. I swear you move like a goddamn tornado. You doing hair up or hair down?"

Alex doesn't waste time pondering. "Up. If I'm gonna be cooking I gotta keep this mess out of the food."

"Very responsible. Maybe you ought to be head food service dude instead of Charles fucking Lee. You want me to put it up for you?"

"I can do it."

"But do you want me to do it for you?"

Alexander doesn't say yes, but he grabs a brush, yanks a hair tie off his wrist, and hands them both to John. It's a victory if John's ever seen one. He runs the brush through Alexander's hair, less tangled than usual, and wonders. Alex is a compact, electric ball of nervous energy. Fast-talking, fast-moving, sharp. He is the opposite of comforting in almost every situation. But his presence still calms John down in so many ways. It's knowing that there's someone so present, so alive, that makes John feel better. He's never really felt that before.

 _I like him for the same reason people like thunderstorms,_ John thinks as he gathers all of Alex's hair into a ponytail at the base of his neck.

"Hey, John? I love you."

"Hey, Alex? I love you too. Also your hair's done."

Alexander reaches behind his head and pokes at his ponytail. "Feels like it looks awesome. You ready to go eat dinner with the Washingtons?"

"So ready."

 

Elisa feels her phone vibrating again and again at her hip. She ignores it, swallowing, still unsure whether this is really okay. She was invited, yes. They gave her subway money to get here, yes. They know why she needs them, yes.

But it still feels weird and wrong. She doesn't want to take advantage of them.

Elisa swallows again and rings the doorbell.

 

When Mrs. Washington opens the door, there's a fat tabby curling around her legs, and the sounds of at least two dogs barking are emanating from within the house. The Washingtons live on the outskirts of the city. They have a real house. Alexander's impressed.

"Nice to see you two!" she says, kissing them each on the cheek. "George tells me all about you two. Says you're great teachers, troublemakers through and through. Which one of you is John and which is Alex?"

"John Laurens," John says.

"And I'm Alexander Hamilton," Alex says. "It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Washington."

She laughs. "Just Martha, please." Just Martha, who's a sturdy woman, hair starting to go grey but a vibrant light in her eyes, ushers them past the threshold. "Come on in! Has George warned you about our mutual struggles with cooking? I promise dessert will be delicious, but that's about all I can promise you."

"It'll still be better than anything I can do," John offers, and Just Martha laughs. She's got a belly laugh.

Alexander thinks he likes Washington's wife.

The principal himself is in the kitchen, tied up in a blue apron, looking out of place but not uncomfortable with it. He waves over his shoulder to Alex and John. He's standing, bent, over a phone screen.

"Need any help?" Alex asks.

"Frankly, my boy, I need every ounce of help you've got."

"I can provide," Alexander says with a grin, rolling up his sleeves. "John, come be my sous chef."

"Aren't you my sous chef?" Washington asks, joking.

"Come be the sous chef to the sous chef," Alex corrects. "C'mon, let's get us both some aprons."

A few minutes later, the Washingtons, John, and Alexander are all decked out in aprons of various colors and patterns. Given that John is wearing one that says  _kiss the cook_ , Alexander takes every opportunity to follow the apron's instructions. Between the recipes on papers and phones and Alex's direction and the Washingtons' diligence and John's skill at chopping up carrots, they've got something resembling Thanksgiving dinner starting to come together.

Behind them, Alexander hears dog claws clicking against the tile floor, skidding into the room, followed by girlish laughter and the sounds of sliding socks.  _I didn't think the Washingtons had kids,_ Alex muses. He turns around to observe. The girl before him looks up from the dogs (a dalmatian and some sort of spaniel), and the expression on her face makes a downward slide from giddy glee to shock and shame.

Alex almost drops his ladle. He's talking before he can stop himself.

"Elisa? What're you doing here?"

 

George Washington is not focused on the food (which is probably a testament to how good it is, that he doesn't have to contemplate whether it's edible or not). He is not focused on what Elisa's saying - he knows it all already, it's why she's here having what must be her first decent meal in days. He's focused on how Alexander and John react to Elisa. He plans to jump in at the first sign of trouble, since he knows for all their virtues and charms, Hamilton and Laurens have a tendency to speak without considering consequences.

So far, there haven't been signs of trouble at which to jump.

"And... well, Mom got mad," Elisa sighs, poking at a mound of stuffing with her fork. "It's just Mom and me - or rather, now it's just Mom. She packed me a bag and told me never to come back. We live pretty far from school. I couldn't get there without taking the train. I've probably missed a bunch of tests at this point. Either way, though, I got an email from Principal Washington and... this happened."

"Where were you staying?" Alex asks, keeping his voice soft and non-threatening, something George notes with satisfaction.

"Homeless shelter," she says. It would be a mumble on anyone else, but Elisa's voice comes through with startling clarity. "But now I'm staying here until everything blows over. And I'm going back to school on Monday. And that's the story of how I came out as bisexual to my principal," she adds, something resembling a grin on her face. She takes a big bite of her stuffing.

"You told anybody else?" John inquires.

"Nah. Can't stand people worrying about me."

George notes something flicker in Alexander's eyes at that.

"We missed you at rehearsal," Alex says. "Your friends are all... concerned. To put it mildly."

"I'm not gonna worry them," she says stubbornly.

"I don't think they'd be worried," John interjects, taking his words slow. "I mean, they might. But sometimes, when your homophobic parent tells you you're not allowed to come home for Thanksgiving, you can't keep it bottled up. It's... it's better to tell someone. You wanna freeze up, you wanna do it on your own, you don't want anyone to know that not everything's bright and rosy in Elisa-Land. Yeah?"

She nods.

"But however much they'd worry if they knew what happened, not knowing is worse." He looks to Alexander, seemingly for confirmation, which he receives when Alexander nods.  "You don't have to do it right now. Actually, don't, because phones at the table are generally considered rude. Later. But even just telling them 'this is what's going on' makes a big difference. For you and for them."

"Not that you'd know anything about that?" Elisa asks.

John grins. His hands are on the table, and Alexander lays a hand over one of John's. "Not that I'd know anything about that," John agrees.

"Hey, when you text your friends, tell them I say hi," Alexander adds.

Elisa squints at him before bursting into laughter. Dinner resumes as normal, and they - the principal, his wife, two teachers, and a student, almost like a family - enjoy themselves. Dessert is the best pumpkin pie they've ever had, even better than Martha promised. 

George is proud of everybody. So, so proud.

 

After dinner, Elisa retreats to go play with the dogs, but she pauses in the kitchen where Laurens and A-Ham have begun loading the dishwasher. "Hey," she says, clear and crisp, her debate team voice. "Thanks."

Laurens and A-Ham don't say anything, but they smile.

Elisa smiles back.

 

"Hey, John?" Alex says as they load George Washington's dishwasher. (DishWashington, they're both calling it.) "That was good, what you said to Elisa. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of her. I love you."

"I love you too, Alex."

"Can I meet your dad?"

This is a non sequitur. John is speechless. He drops the bundle of forks he's holding with a clatter.

 

_[To: Nicola <3; WhamBamCam; Javier; Vicccccc] hey guys! happy thanksgiving. just wanted to let u know that i'm safe, i'm healthy, and i'll be back in school on monday. also, a-ham says to say hello._

Four teenagers in four houses having four different Thanksgivings check their phones and breathe one sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, hi! Comments, as usual, are my favorite part, but I'm also conducting a vote! You see, I saw Hamilton this weekend, and I'm SO EXCITED about it. It's given me ideas that I can't wait to write, and I want to know which one you guys want to see first! There's:  
> 1\. Madison/Jefferson: art heist AU. Series. Featuring Burr as a museum curator who just wants his paycheck.  
> 2\. Madison/Jefferson: popular singer AU. Series. Featuring Hamilton as a music journalist/critic whose opinion is law in select circles.  
> 3\. Hamilton/Jefferson: sequel to Don't Stop 'Til You Agree. Oneshot. Featuring Eliza still being the best wife ever.
> 
> Cast your vote in the comments. Bonus points for reasoning!


	18. Impetuous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impetuous (adj.) - Acting or done quickly and without thought or care.  
> "Despite all the warnings from their boss, John and Alexander were still headstrong and impetuous, and their actions reflected just that."

_It's a good thing today's a professional development day,_ Alexander thinks bitterly.  _It's a good thing all the kids are supposed to go home early anyway. It's a good thing Thanksgiving just happened so everybody ate well. It's a good thing so many of these kids can get a decent meal elsewhere._

 _And it's a_ damn  _good thing that I know where the cafeteria is._

 

"It's ironic, isn't it?" Elisa asks. She's sitting next to Nicola on the curb, their arms around each other, both of them clutching their stomachs. She feels gross, of course, but the churning in her stomach is a backseat sensation. She likes being back at school. "My first day back here, the first day I don't have a lunch my mom made for me, and everyone gets food poisoning."

"I think that's less ironic and more unfortunate," Nicola comments. "Though yeah, it is, in a way. I can't seem to think straight."

"Probably because you're gonna throw up again?"

"Probably."

The girls are waiting on the principal's wife to come and get them, since they're in no shape to make the journey home. Elisa, of course, is living with her principal now. She's still awed at their family's generosity. Nicola's parents won't be home from work until eleven tonight, so Mrs. Washington offered to let Nicola rest up at their house.

"We don't have kids of our own, y'know," she'd commented when Elisa first thanked her (maybe a little too much) for her generosity. "Gotta get our parenting instincts out of the way somehow, right?"

"So, what's the official story again?" Elisa asks, tucking her legs to the side to alleviate some of the pressure on her aching stomach.

"Nothing official, but two differing unofficial accounts. One is that the meat for the American chop suey was contaminated, and it's somehow the fault of a scattershot administration and not enough oversight of the food we're ordering." Elisa knows the tone in Nicola's voice, edging on derisive, that she gets whenever she's about to tear an opponent apart. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't kinda hot.

"And the other?"

"The dude from the cafeteria - Charlie? - forgot to wash his hands."

"My money's on that one. Ick. Hey, come get me if Mrs. Washington shows up in the next couple minutes. I'll be right back." Elisa wants to say more, but she's calling over her shoulder at this point, rushing back inside. Food poisoning is not a good way to spend an afternoon.

Still, it's food poisoning she's got at school. With her girlfriend and about two-thirds of the student body. With Mrs. Washington coming to pick them both up.

_Could be worse._

 

Just as he yanks open the door to the cafeteria, still fuming, Alexander gets a text. He changed Washington's contact name after Thanksgiving.

_[From: DishWashington] Alexander, I was just notified about Mr. Lee's comments. Don't do anything stupid._

_[From: DishWashington] I mean it. Both as a boss and as a friend. Don't you dare do anything rash._

_[To: DishWashington] I won't. I promise._

Alex sighs, shoves his phone back into his pocket, and lets the door to the cafeteria fall shut with a heavy clatter. He can't go against what Washington wants, not like this, not when he knows he was about to do something both stupid and rash. But also, Charles Lee is one-hundred-percent cruising for a bruising and it tears Alexander apart that he can't be the one to go in there and tell him off.

He kicks at the door and turns around to head back to his classroom. There are still a few minutes left in the professional development meeting, technically, but once Lafayette cut out early to take his friend Adrienne to the doctor's (she can't stand shots, apparently), the whole thing more or less dissolved. As far as Alex knows, Washington and John are the only ones in there. He'd still be in there too, but he was itching to go see Charles Lee.

And now he can't.  _Ugh._

As he passes the library, he nearly knocks someone over as they're walking out. "Whoa, hey!" John says, laughing as he grabs for Alexander to steady himself. "Shit, man, what's got into you?"

"Lee," Alex groans. "Fucking hate that guy."

"Was that what you kept looking at on your phone?" John hooks his arm in Alex's and they walk a few paces down the hall, just around the corner, and stop again.

"Sure was. Motherfucker posted a whole long rant on his blog about how this school is falling apart under Washington's leadership, how he can't be trusted with the principalship and he's indecisive in the face of crises like the food poisoning shit - as though no one's gonna notice that it's Lee's fault! And the fucking worst part is I can't do anything about it."

"Why not? Go fight him. I'll back you up."

Alexander grins. That's such a John thing to say, it makes his heart speed up half a beat. "I know you will. But Washington just texted me saying, and I quote, 'don't you dare do anything rash.' And me, idiot that I am, I promised that I wouldn't. So I'm stuck here wanting to talk his dumb head off but I can't."

John nods sympathetically and unhooks his arm to squeeze Alex's shoulder. It helps. John always helps. Alexander's heart is still half a beat too fast, but he watches John's face, contemplating the mess of freckles. They haven't faded at all even as the days grow shorter.

Because he's watching John's face, he gets to see the precise moment those amber eyes fill with something that looks like a plan. "So you can't do a thing because Washington told you not to, yes?"

Alex nods. "Mm-hm."

"Good thing he didn't tell me anything."

 

Because he's watching Alexander's face, John gets to see the precise moment Alexander's storm-dark eyes widen, crinkling at the edges with a broad grin. "John?" he says. "Have I ever told you I love both you and your astounding capability for technical loopholes in equal measure?"

"Actually, no, I don't think you have. Though to be fair, that's pretty specific."

"Well, I do. Let's go kick his ass."

"Hey, hey," John says, putting a hand on Alex's chest as though he's holding him back from a fight. "I'll be doing the ass-kicking here. You'll be supporting me, but not in a way that'll get you in trouble with Wash."

"Right, of course," Alex says, eyes still glinting. John loves him when he gets like this.

_I love him all the time._

They walk into the cafeteria together and find nobody. The tables have all been put wiped down for the evening, the lights are off, and the doors and windows to the kitchen are locked and shuttered. John and Alex look at each other.

"Or not..." John says.

"Hey, wait. Parking lot. He's been posting shit on his blog right along. I bet he's just leaving."

"Race you?" John asks without hesitation. Alexander doesn't answer, and for a second John thinks he's gonna get a speech. Alexander's taking one of his deep, speech-making breaths. John adjusts himself to wait and listen.

Alex leans forward, kisses him on the nose, and takes off sprinting.

"Unfair head start!" John shouts after him. They pound through the halls of Liberty High School, feet to floor, with no one in their path and nothing but the back door in between them and the faculty parking lot. When they burst out into the cold air (it's almost December - how did that happen?), Alex is slightly ahead of John. There are only a few lone cars in the parking lot, since almost everyone just bikes or takes the train. 

Charles Lee is getting into one of the cars.

"You win," John whispers to Alexander, pulling up short beside him. "Now let's do this."

"Hey, Lee!" Alexander shouts across the lot. Charles Lee yanks himself out of the car he's halfway into and waves. John feels Alexander squeeze his hand, just once, and the two of them stalk together across the lot.

Lee looks unaffected by their stalking. "Good to see you, Hamilton. Laurens. Shame about the food poisoning, huh?"

John nods once to Alex. "Sure is," he says, taking another step towards Lee.

Alexander takes a step back, lets John do the talking, and John's not quite sure what he's saying but he's  _pissed._ He can feel Alex crackling like a lightning storm behind him, egging him on and tossing well-placed jabs toward Lee when they're not too incriminating, and John feeds off that anger. Man, he's gotten better at keeping his recklessness in check (he's had to, perfect, always perfect), but now he is a  _downpour._ Alexander is the lightning behind him and John is the thunder.

Lee takes a step toward him, still shouting something in his face, and in a second John feels the crash and the boom in his chest and this is a perfect storm. Lee is doubled over on his car with a hand under his nose before he knows what hit him.

John blinks.  _Presumably I hit him._

"Holy shit, John." Alexander's voice is coming from behind him. "One, that was fucking awesome, and two, he deserved it, but three, we are gonna be in so much trouble."

"We should go tell Washington."

"Yep."

Each of them gets a hand on one of Lee's shoulders and they steer him back into the building. Charles Lee appears to be too shocked to run his mouth anymore, so he just holds a hand beneath his bleeding nose and stares at them.

Alexander catches John's eye over the shoulder of the man between them and winks.

"Just so we're clear," Alex says, "I fucking love you, Laurens."

"What can I say?" John asks. "I have an astounding capability for technical loopholes."

They knock on Washington's doorframe. He always has the door open, but they knock anyway. There are certain ways one does something with George Washington. John is watching Washington's face, so he sees the exact moment, almost a second after he looks up, when warmth and confusion change to shock and, belatedly, outrage.

The last of John's adrenaline high fades.  _A perfect storm,_ he thinks.

"Shit," Alex says aloud, and that sums it up better than John thinks he ever could.

 

"Mr. Lee," Washington says, voice tight, "wait outside please. I'll speak to you after." And then he shuts the door, and that's when Alex knows they're in some serious shit. He looks at John, who seems to be coming down from the chemical cocktail his brain was serving him (as Alex is), and he sees what he's feeling on John's face: a couple of kids who got in a fight and were sent to the principal's office.

"Son." It's unclear which of them he's addressing, which somehow makes it worse.

"It's my fault, sir," John jumps in. "Alexander wasn't going to do anything, he  _didn't_ do anything, but I offered to take Lee down a peg since you hadn't directly told me not to. I didn't mean to punch him, not that that's any consolation."

"We can't have you setting this kind of example!" Washington roars. It is a roar, and Alex feels more than sees John flinch in the chair next to him. It's a terrible flinch, a visceral flinch, the kind of flinch that learned from experience.

"Sir," Alexander says, keeping his voice as calm as he can - setting an example, hah. "It's both of our faults. I apologize. And I can say that no, no one went into that confrontation expecting physical violence."

"We just wanted accountability for him!" John says, edging back in, sounding worked up. Alex puts a hand on the armrest of his seat but doesn't actually touch him. It's hard to tell if touching is okay right now. "It's so clearly his fault that this shit happened to our poor students, and he was blaming you! You don't deserve that, you're doing your goddamn best around here and Lee wouldn't shut up."

"Watch your tone," Washington says, a clear warning, but he has kept himself from a roar this time.

"We really are sorry, sir."

"We are," John agrees.

"It's... we can't stand injustice. I know I can't, I know John can't, and Lee's bullshit about Liberty's crises being your fault was just unfair." Alex feels his voice rising, feels color rising in his cheeks. "So I'm sorry it got out of hand. I'm sorry Lee's in there with a bloody nose. But I'm not gonna say he doesn't deserve it."

Washington slams his hands down on the desk, moving to stand up, and John presses himself back as far as he'll go in the chair. Alexander, again feeling John's fright and his movements more than seeing them, extends the hand on John's armrest, which John takes and holds onto for dear life. Washington sinks back into his chair.

"Go home. Both of you." His voice is quiet, verging on calm.

"Are we fired?" John asks.

"No. But you will not be coming in to school. I haven't decided for how long yet. Send me your plans for the rest of the week and I'll send them to whichever substitutes we find. Just... go home. You two need some time and some space."

"Okay," John says, answering for both of them. His relief is palpable. Alexander feels himself starting to seethe again, stormclouds churning up in the pit of his belly, but he grits his teeth and stands up for John's sake.  _Besides, I'll be able to get some of my own work done. It's just days off. This is just days off._

_Which would be nice if I didn't need the money from this job so damn badly._

"Send Lee in," Washington calls after them, and then, "Stay safe, son."

This time, it's clear that he's talking to both of them.

 

"So d'you think rehearsal's still on?" John asks, stretching across the couch and opening his mouth. Alexander smirks and drops another piece of kettle corn onto his tongue. They're nearing the end of their first Washington-sanctioned day off, and John is enjoying the hell out of this.

"I'm damn near sure it is," Alexander replies, idly scrolling through their Netflix queue. Probably they'll just end up re-watching Parks and Rec, but it's nice to have the illusion of choice. "It's gotta be happening. Nicola would kill someone if it didn't."

"True. Hey, you wanna watch Parks and Rec?"

"My thoughts exactly! We're so in sync."

"Mm, that we are," John says with a smile that even feels lazy, pulling at Alex's t-shirt collar until he leans down to kiss him. "So hey, did you tell anybody about our derring-do yet?"

"I mean, I'm pretty sure Wash is contractually obligated to let the staff know what happened, but I haven't really told anybody. Just Laf, I think."

"Really? Just Laf?"

"Oh, and Hercules. Duh."

 

"I am sorry to tell you," says the man at the front of the room, "but I have no idea what I am doing. I was always a musicals person myself, never so much Shakespeare. Nicola, I am trusting that you can run the rehearsal?"

"You trust appropriately," she says. "Thanks, Monsieur Lafayette." She claps her hands. "Alright people, we're working backwards today. Set up for five-one. Elisa, you got everybody?"

Elisa gives her a thumbs-up, peeking out from behind the curtain, and starts calling cues to actors.

"It is a shame that John and Alexander could not be here today," Lafayette says, seated next to Nicola.

"Mm-hm. You know why they're out?"

"I'm afraid I cannot share that information."

Nicola laughs. "Oh, no, I'm perfectly aware of why they're not here today. I was wondering if you did."

"How do you know? That information is not supposed to be for students to know."

She waves a hand. "I didn't tell anybody, no worries. Wouldn't want anyone to think less of our advisors, not that they would. They'd be given a heroes' welcome, honestly - we all hate Charlie. He skimps on french toast stick days."

"That still does not answer how you know!"

"I have someone on the inside."

"That is ominous."

Nicola laughs as Elisa, coming in on the tail end of the conversation, sits down beside her. "Don't worry about it, Monsieur, it's not as scary as she makes it sound," Elisa says with a grin. "Nicola's gym teacher just likes to gossip."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this time tomorrow, voting on the next story will close (see chapter 17 for details). So far the Art Heist AU is winning by a landslide!  
> Cast your vote - or just let me know your thoughts on the story - in the comments!


	19. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith (n.) - Complete trust or confidence in someone or something.  
> "Despite the drama and heartbreak that come with being a high school student - or teacher - the staff and students never lost their faith in each other."

"I can't believe he punched him."

"Four for you, John Laurens!"

"When d'you think they'll be back?"

"Why's A-Ham even out in the first place?"

George Washington has no idea how this got out to the students, but he'd put his money on Nicola Brown. Granted, he's got no idea who she talked to to obtain this information, and he's never pegged her for a gossip, but who else could it be? He'd probably tell her anything she needed to know if she asked. She's damn convincing.

He's sent an email out to all of the students and staff requesting that they please quit gossiping about any incidents that may have occurred because this is still a learning environment. And besides, we ought to respect Laurens and Hamilton's privacy, and besides-besides, he's certain they'll be a little bit too pleased to answer any questions when they return. However ridiculous and annoying his job may be, George can't deny that he enjoys this. Plus Charles Lee doesn't work here anymore, so.

He requests that John and Alexander return on December the first. They do so gladly.

 

"Herc, are you kidding me?" Alexander demands through a snort. Someone left the window of his classroom open overnight - unreasonable heat yesterday, normal December cold today - so he's hiding out with Laf, John, and Herc in the teachers' lounge until the bell rings. He's praying it warms up enough to conduct class in the next twenty minutes. 

"Not kidding you, my man," he says. "Made the kids a promise at the start of the year - I tell you everything, you tell me everything. I trust you, you trust me."

"So you told 'em all that I punched a lunch server in the parking lot," John adds.

"Yup." Herc grins toothily before settling himself into full Intimidate mode. "You got somethin' to say about it?"

Alexander knows well enough not to be intimidated for a second by Hercules Mulligan, but the guy can look damn scary when he wants to. Still, Alexander laughs.

"Be careful, mon ami, or Laurens will punch you, too," Lafayette warns, prompting another round of laughter.

"I'll do it, too," John says, smacking his fist with an open palm and failing to keep a straight face. "Quickest way to take a break I ever found. I could use another couple days of R and R with Alex."

"Spare us the details," Laf groans.

"Oh, like you don't tell us all about you and Asshole Thomas Jefferson."

"When was the last time I talked about Asshole Thomas Jefferson?"

Alex smirks. "Right now."

"You are too clever for your own good, Alexander," Lafayette counters, shoving him in the shoulder.

The bell rings, cutting Alex off as he opens his mouth. He's sad to leave the teacher's lounge, with its warm conversation and its hot coffee, especially given that there's no way his classroom is warm yet. But John puts an arm around him and they walk to their hallway together, and that's warm, too.

"Ugh, I bet my classroom is still freezing. The poor kids won't even be able to write, their hands'll be so cold."

"Not to mention you."

Alexander waves a hand. "Unimportant."

John, who's tied his winter jacket around his waist and shoved his scarf into the hood, pulls the soft length of fabric from behind him and hands it to Alexander. "Uh, I beg to differ. Important. Can't have you unable to write, now can we?"

"I don't even have cool markers to write with."

John snorts, looping his scarf around Alexander's neck. Despite himself, Alex sinks into the warm material. "That sounds like a you problem," John jokes before waving goodbye and ducking into his classroom.

As soon as he steps into his room (still chilly, but getting there) and is bombarded with freshman questions about the Charles Lee Incident, it occurs to Alexander that he hasn't gotten a single line of work done all day.

It's not until third period that he realizes he doesn't even mind.

 

The date of Much Ado's first performance is fast approaching (they'll be doing four shows: the Thursday and the Friday before winter break, plus a matinee and a night show on that Saturday), and everybody's feeling stressed, underprepared, and a little silly.

"As you know," Nicola says, clapping her hands together, "tech week begins a week and a half from today. You've all got your lines memorized - except for you, Joe, not that I blame you given how many you are, but for god's sake, try to get them memorized."

"Working on it!" Joe calls. Eloise shoots him a smug smile which Nicola appears to ignore.

Javier is seated on the stage behind Nicola, watching her wild curls bounce with the effort of making a pep talk sound both peppy and annoyed. He's had all his lines memorized for over a month now. Stuff like that just doesn't come hard to Javier. In the meantime, he's been helping Cam with hers, extensively. They've found some interesting ways to ensure she remembers what she's saying. Javier thinks he'll have to try awfully hard not to kiss her quite so much in the show.

He's so excited she lets him kiss her these days.

"Would anybody else like to say anything?" Nicola asks, scanning the room for someone to add to her pep talk.

"Can I add something?"

Nicola blinks. "Uh, yeah, of course. Shoot."

"Keep it up, guys. I'm nervous. I can't imagine anybody not being nervous about this. But we're doing really well. If we keep it together for the next week and a half... this production is gonna be amazing."

Cam sits back down, ducking behind her hair to keep the eyes off of her. Javier can tell she didn't rehearse this beforehand, didn't plan it. She stood up and spoke to an auditorium filled with her peers.

Javier wants to jump off the stage and kiss her right this second, but the eyes are still on her and he's gotta do something first. "I dunno," he says loudly. "You guys seem really worked up over something super little. All these nerves about a few performances? I'd say you're making... three, two, one..."

The cast shouts it. "Much ado about nothing!"

Attention safely focused on their laughter, and then on Nicola asking them to please get to work, they're running act two, Javier jumps off the stage and meets Cam halfway to the wings, grabbing her hand. "That was awesome," he whispers. "Seriously, completely awesome."

"I can still feel my heart racing," Cam whispers back.

"Good way or bad way?"

Cam looks down at their hands - hers is bigger than Javier's - and then up at him. She smiles. "I can't decide," she says.

 

"Holy shit, John." Alexander is elbowing him in the side. "John. Did you just see that? Did you just  _hear_ that?"

"I'm sitting right here, Alex." John did, in fact, see and hear that, and even his snarky commentary can't fully contain his excitement. Over weeks of daily rehearsals, he's gotten close to these kids. Their victories and failures and worries have become his, and holy  _shit_ was that a victory.

"She just... in front of everybody! Dude, I'm so proud of her."

John nods. "I know! I know. I dunno if pride's the word I'm looking for, though. It's just..."

"So much more, I know! We are getting her flowers for closing night, okay?"

John, grinning, says, "We are getting everybody flowers for closing night. Every single one of the people in this room right now deserves a whole damn bouquet."

"Vic's allergic."

"So we'll get him fake ones!"

"Damn, wish I had the money for that," Alex says wistfully.

John pulls up short, the conversation's path having been pulled right out from under him. "Uh, you do. We're gonna buy them flowers. Together. Ergo you have the money for that. Did I... you didn't promise everything we have to a gangster or something, right?"

"Well, no, I didn't do that."

John studies Alexander for a moment. "Alex. What's mine is yours, man, you know that. I get that you're a fully functioning adult with a stable job. I get that you can make it on your own. But I don't want you to! Maybe it's selfish but I'd prefer you don't try to make it on your own. I want you in my apartment, or picking out flowers for the kids with me, or wearing my scarf. So you've got the money to buy these kids flowers, and don't let yourself tell you otherwise."

"I've got work to do," Alexander says, straightening up in his seat.

"Oh, don't you dare pull the work card on me, Hamilton."

"I just hate being pitied, John," he hisses. It would be a yell, but it's a crowded auditorium. John's grateful that Alex has elected to keep his voice low. "I don't want handouts. I don't want charity. I'm only even here because the folks in my town passed a literal plate around so I could get a plane ticket to come up here and go to college on the scholarship money I won. I'm grateful for them every day, but my god, I work my ass off so no one ever has to do that for me again! And I don't want you wasting your money on me."

"It's not wasted, Alexander. Never. And for that matter, it's not pity either." Alexander isn't looking at him. John touches him under his chin, brings his face into viewing range. "Not pity. Never pity. Love. Okay? I want you to believe this. I will tell you this every goddamn day, because it's true. I don't pity you. You're the smartest, most creative man I know. You're a thunderstorm. People don't pity thunderstorms. I do this because I love you, and I care about you, and it keeps you in my life." John pauses. "Plus there's some serious satisfaction in spending my dad's money on my gay boyfriend, ya know?"

Alexander, bless him, cracks up. "Yeah, that does feel kind of cosmic justice-y."

"Hey, A-Ham?" calls Nicola from the front row. "Come watch this. Javier's doing something weird."

"On my way!"

John catches at Alex's wrist as he stands up. "Hey. C'mere."

He's still not sure how Alexander feels when they kiss, but John makes damn sure he kisses with zero percent pity and a hundred percent love. And judging by Alexander's smile when they break apart, he felt it.

 

Aaron Burr is Jewish. Aaron Burr has never been a huge fan of the red-and-green stuff and the soft lights that go up in the teacher's lounge every year the week before Christmas. This is why, for all the trouble they've caused, Aaron Burr is warming up to John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton.

Not only has Alexander insisted upon adorable, wintry, and non-denominational decorations in the teacher's lounge, but he and John Laurens have organized a secret gift swap, which is not called Secret Santa but instead Secret Snowflake (or as Alexander's been referring to it, "Super Secret Snowflake Gift Swap and Non-Denominational Winter Holiday Extravaganza"). It's a Thursday morning, the last Thursday before winter break.

Aaron's staring at the gift box in front of him, which contains possibly the ugliest sweater he's ever seen in his life.

Hercules Mulligan, the most fashionable human being known to man, is laughing his ass off.

 _It's hardly fair,_ Aaron thinks as the three Schuyler sisters, the librarian, the guidance counselor, and the substitute teacher, open their presents at once. The three of them managed to pull each other's names in an odd triangle. Of course, they all love their gifts.

Aaron himself received Alexander Hamilton's name, and he knows Alexander pulled Principal Washington. As of this moment, Washington is unwrapping his (meticulously wrapped) mug reading "#1 Dad."

Washington chortles when he sees the mug. "Thanks, son," he says with an affectionate pat to Alexander's back. It's no secret to Aaron that the principal really has become a father of sorts to students and teachers alike, and especially to the two new hires, Hamilton and Laurens. He's spoken about it with the other teachers. They'd all be lying if they said they didn't envy that a little.

Alexander Hamilton tears into his gift paper like he'll die if he doesn't get it off  _right this instant_. He uncovers a book that Aaron definitely spent over the budget trying to find (he can't help it - and besides, it's worth it for the laughter. Aaron'll never admit it, but he enjoys the attention. He enjoys the affirmation.).

"Thanks, Aaron!" Alex crows, holding up the book. "I've really needed this."

He displays the cover for the room to see.  _Ten Simple Solutions To Shyness_ , it reads. Everyone bursts out laughing, John Laurens most of all.

"Happy non-denominational holidays, everyone!" John says just as the morning bell rings. Aaron watches Hamilton and Laurens leave the room, side-by-side, arms around each other. Like they'll die if they aren't together  _right this instant._

"They sure do love each other, huh?" Angelica Schuyler comments, right in his ear. She's already wearing the  _I like big books and I cannot lie_ pin that Eliza got her.

"They sure do," Aaron agrees.

 

The Liberty High School Shakespeare Dorks are nervous. They've got everything they need - vaguely period-era costumes, a flawless lighting and sound system (which they've tested three times today), pizza and carrot sticks, and each other. They've even printed programs reading "Much Ado About Nothing: presented by the Liberty High School Shakespeare Dorks." Nicola laughed out loud when she saw them for the first time.

But with five minutes until the curtain opens, everyone's looking at each other a little nervously.

Nicola and Elisa have their headsets on, ready to jump in if anything happens. Eloise and Joe are sniping at each other in whispered voices. Vic and Javier are leaning, side-by-side, against the wall of their backstage area, playing silent round after round of rock-paper-scissors. Cam is staring at the closed curtain, trying to quell the rising tide of panic in her chest.

It's easier than she expects. They've put her in a pink dress and braided her choppy bangs back. Elisa's a whiz with makeup, always has been, and Cam's feeling more like a girl than she has in a long time.

Javier told her, when she first stepped out in full costume, "You look like a heroine. And a Hero."

She shoved him for the pun, and he kissed her for the sentiment.

"Alright, people," says Laurens, who's just entered through the side door. "We've only got a few minutes until curtain. You guys have worked so hard for this. You're so ready."

"So ready," A-Ham echoes. Cam isn't even sure when he came in. "I had a grand speech to make to you guys, but we don't actually have enough time. So just know this: I'm proud of you guys, and John's proud of you guys, and I hope you guys are proud of you guys. Whatever happens to the Liberty High School Shakespeare Dorks, it happens to all of us. So go out there, support each other, and break a leg together."

"Together!" John echoes. They like to do that, Cam has noticed.

"Together," Vic adds, a smile on his face.

"Together?" Javier asks.

"Together..." Nicola says, faking hesitant.

They repeat it, in different emotions and tones of voice, until it no longer sounds like a word. They group-hug and take their places. Cam watches as A-Ham raises the curtain.

"Together," she murmurs.

 

"Hey, Alexander?" John whispers. They're watching from the lighting booth. So far a few props have been dropped or forgotten, and Eloise switched a few of her lines around, but beyond that everything's going swimmingly.

"Hm?" Alex doesn't tear his eyes away from the action on the stage, far away, far below.

"So I'm going home for Christmas whether Dad likes it or not."

"Shit, John, seriously? I'm proud of you. I'll miss you like hell, though."

"No, you won't."

Alexander blinks and looks over his shoulder, away from the kids. "Huh?"

"I want you to come with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pleased to announce that the Jefferson/Madison Art Heist AU has won in a landslide, with 11 of 17 votes! Expect the first chapter up soon. (And if you voted for something else, no worries - everything'll be written at some point.)
> 
> Comments are the heart and soul of this operation, so let me know what you think!


	20. Loquacious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loquacious (adj.) - Tending to talk a great deal; talkative.  
> "Alexander's loquacious tendencies came through in both his speeches and his writing, especially when talking to John."

There is applause, pounding a rhythm against their temples. Yeah, it's a high school play, not a smash Broadway show, but the standing ovation doesn't feel patronizing. The cheering and wolf-whistles don't feel pitying. Someone's father shouting "that's my little girl!" doesn't feel demeaning.

The cast of Much Ado About Nothing joins hands and bows. They indicate the crew in the light booth, who wave. They pull their director and stage manager and advisors on stage, and they bow awkwardly. They all bow again.

Together.

Afterwards, A-Ham and Laurens gather them all backstage and make a speech. It's one speech between the two of them, each cutting the other off when they're too choked up to finish.

"And everybody grew so much during this production," A-Ham is saying as John breathes deep. "I'm so proud of all the people you are. I couldn't imagine a better..."

"There are no better people to have played these characters. Or worked these lights, or painted these sets, or directed this dialogue, or kept track of these props, or anything." John sniffles a little. "We have flowers, by the way."

As the flowers are handed out, dozens upon dozens of pink and white carnations, people clap and cheer and cry. They are all high schoolers, a little overwhelmed by their success, by the love and support of their advisors and each other.

"Thank you, from all of us," Nicola says in her Public Speaker voice. She isn't crying. Next to none of them have ever seen Nicola cry. But judging from the waver in her throat, they might get to soon. Elisa pulls her a little tighter, an adoring grin plastered on her face.

People leave to greet family and friends. Many of them are arm-in-arm or hand-in-hand, whether they're friends (like Christian and Bea and Gloria), or in a relationship (like Eloise and Joe - that was the showmance that shocked them all), or siblings (like Yolanda and Javier). The fluorescent lights of the hallway beat down, and before he knows what happened, Vic realizes he is alone in the hallway with A-Ham and Laurens.

He opens his mouth to say something, and the teachers smile preemptively, seeming to expect one of his trademark snarky jokes.

"Thanks," he says, feeling shy for the first time in years. "It was good."

He leaves before they can say anything. He's got to get hugs from Cam and Nicola and Elisa and the entire de la Rosa family, not to mention the fact that his dad brought all five of his little siblings to see the show.

Vic smiles to himself. He thinks this night might go down in history, might be so much bigger than it seems.

"Then again," he murmurs to himself as his little brother's face comes into view, "I'm probably just making much ado about nothing."

 

"So that went well," Alex says. John looks at him - Alexander's got a dopey grin on his face, from some combination of having just made the understatement of the year and having just experienced something borderline magical.

"Meh, it was okay." 

They burst out laughing. John leans on the wall as Alex grabs for them, both struggling to stay upright. It's been such a long road to get here. Tonight went so well. John isn't sure about Alexander, but he himself is feeling almost drunk.

"Let's go home and pack," John offers as he regains control of his diaphragm. "After all, early flight tomorrow. Remind me again why I booked the 8:30?"

"Because you said, and I quote, nobody wants to get to the airport so early in the goddamn morning, so at least we won't have to deal with crazy lines." Alex grins at him. They've been over this before.

"Ugh, I wish I wasn't so smart," John complains.

"I don't." Alexander gives him a kiss on the nose and, with a final glance at the auditorium, they leave school. Together.

Packing for their five-day stay in South Carolina is, for lack of a better word, an ordeal. None of the weather forecasts for the area match up, and they've seen everywhere from 65 degrees to 30 degrees, and while John is confident in his ability to adapt to any climate issues they may encounter, Alexander is a different story. And on top of the issue of clothing, the stack of handmade cards Alex pulled together for John's father and his siblings ( _when did he find the time to make those?_ ) has gone missing entirely.

"Is your family going to hate me?" Alex asks as he tears his bedroom apart searching for the cards.

"How could they?" John returns with a laugh. "You're delightful."

"I'm an aggressively liberal, outspoken ass who's dating their brother slash son. I'm kinda worried."

"Well yeah. But they won't hate you. Just be nice."

"I'm always nice!"

John snorts. "I'm serious, Alexander. Be nice."

"I will. I promise."

 

"Are you kidding me?" Alexander demands. "None of them?"

He feels John's reassuring hand on his arm and, while he doesn't calm down in the slightest, he stops talking. Alexander is pissed. He's spent days working himself up for this, doing his best to make sure everything will go smoothly and John's mental health will remain intact for the duration of the trip. He handmade cards. (He would have done so anyway, but still, it counts.)

And now no flights are leaving until the snowstorm passes. Which could happen in an hour, or it could happen in twenty-four. Alex is not looking forward to finding out.

"I'm very sorry, sir. We understand you're upset. Unfortunately these things happen around the holiday season. You'll be on the first flight to Charleston International that we can get you on. Thank you for your patience."

Alexander lets out a snort at that. "Ma'am, you don't have to pretend that I'm being patient."

Despite everything, the harried young woman behind the help desk chuckles. "Well, no, you aren't. I wish you both the best of luck."

"That could have gone better," John muses as he steers Alexander back toward their terminal. "But I suppose it could have gone a lot worse too. You wanna wait here and see what happens?"

"Can we get a Cinnabon first?"

John's eyes light up. "Heck yeah we can! This is amazing, I always have to get a Cinnabon while I'm at the airport."

"Right, exactly! Plus we deserve it, with this snowstorm." Alex pauses for a minute. "I'll race you."

He's still pissed about the snowstorm. That isn't just going to fade right away. But dashing down the tiled hallways with a rolling suitcase at his heels, a man on a mission who doesn't actually know where the Cinnabon kiosk is located, Alexander feels a little bit better. 

The man serving the gigantic cinnamon buns side-eyes them when they skid to a stop in front of the kiosk (John overshoots, which makes Alex chuckle). "You two okay?" asks the man - his name tag says Sid.

"Yeah, we're great," John says, out of breath. "Never better."

They don't run back. Instead, they sit down against the wall, suitcases by their sides, and split a Cinnabon. The plastic forks aren't sturdy enough to compete with the gooey confection, and at some point John just stabs the whole thing and holds it up for them to take bites of. Alexander gets icing all over his face, as does John. They try to kiss the icing away, but in reality they only get messier.

Alexander feels, every second, more tension leaching out of his coiled muscles. There are worse places to be stuck on December 22nd than a tiny corner in a gigantic airport.

"So I've been thinking," Alex says once the frosting kisses slow down enough for him to speak.

"Are you ever not?"

"Nope. I've been thinking it's about time I get my essays published somewhere. I've always been writing them for public consumption, y'know? Because they're about subjects that I care about and that I think everyone should be more informed about. The thing is, most of them aren't on related topics, so I don't know how to go about spreading them. There's the option of submitting relevant essays to relevant sources, though it would be nice to keep them all together. I could start a blog, but there's no guarantee of anyone either finding it or caring about it. I have this problem a lot, you know. I see the end goal, and I can meticulously plan out all the materials that it will take to get there, but I jump off from the wrong point. You're good at jumping into things. Where would you recommend beginning?"

Having run out of air, Alexander sniffles in a breath. He's getting sick again, always does around Christmastime.

"You could let me read them," John offers.

"I thought that was implied. I've been planning on making you my first victim - sorry, reader."

John bounces in place, like he's suddenly received a new set of batteries and is itching to see how long it takes to wear them down. "Can we start right now? I've been dying to read these since you first moved in and brought your book collection with you."

"Fine by me," Alexander agrees. He's good at feeding off of John's energy, and he feels an extra battery or two himself. "But you're not touching my laptop until you get cleaned up. Actually, neither am I."

"I always forget how sticky and messy Cinnabons are," John muses.

"Yeah, no kidding."

A quick wash-up in the bathroom and a slow walk back to their terminal, and Alex is pretending to read while actually watching John's face. The laptop is balanced on his legs, and the light illuminates his face as he scans Alexander's words.

Alex notices his leg bouncing and doesn't even try to stop it. The new batteries feel more like nervous energy now.

 _Don't be ridiculous, he's not gonna do something drastic if he doesn't like one of your essays,_ Alexander tells himself. His inner voice has never been effective in this respect, especially when it has to start a statement with "don't be ridiculous." Alexander Hamilton knows he's got a special talent for being ridiculous.

John, who hasn't spoken in what must be hours now, double-clicks on another essay in the series. Alexander doesn't even know which number John started with, or whether he's going in order (not that the order matters), but judging by the way his face just lit up - and not because of the shining laptop - Alex has a good guess which one he's reading.

 

He remembers catching a glimpse of this, a while back. A  _long_ while back, when Much Ado was more of an idea than a proper show and he was still convinced that Alexander Hamilton didn't love him back. (John has a hard time believing it, even now, because it's  _Alexander Hamilton_ , and what is a person to lightning? But Alex says 'I love you' so much, and John isn't inclined to think of him as a liar.)

This is the essay that has his name in it.

"I'd like to read that one aloud, if it's all the same to you," Alex says, clearing his throat awkwardly. John jumps, having almost forgotten that a world existed around him. He turns to see Alex staring at him, focused but past the bug-eyed stage, in a way that suggests he's been staring for a long time.

John hands the laptop over without saying a word. The words are all Alexander's right now.

"This essay is dedicated to, and written for the benefit of, my good friend John Laurens, without whom I would not have an apartment right now. However, without him I also would not be grappling with a frankly soul-crushing attraction to my best friend, so it all balances itself out."

John snorts. This is definitely Alex's writing.

"Tonight, there will be no parenthetical citations. The point of this short essay is both to express my gratitude to and my annoyance with John. Much of my relationship to him functions in this duality, as will soon become obvious. John, my friend, I direct the rest to you. I am in constant appreciation that you have opened your home to me - I must admit I've ignored my apartment search in hopes of maintaining our domestic routine for just a few days longer. And yet, despite this generosity, it astounds me that still you steal my markers (which, I will remind you, I purchased) at every given opportunity. Never mind that I stole them originally from you in Staples. I love those markers and am convinced that they are the only things standing between my current position and being an Uncool Teacher, so I say as bluntly as I may - get your own."

John's snort becomes a full-blown laugh. Alexander, mouth turned up at the edges, takes a second to recollect himself. As he reads, John watches the way his lips move, the way he rakes a stray piece of hair behind his ears, the way he shakes his foot against the ground like he cannot contain all of his nervous energy.

"Because I am almost certain you'll never read this, I freely admit that I am in love with you. I could rhapsodize for hours on how happy it makes me when you smile, I could write poetry about your voice (and, in fact, I have, though you won't find it in this essay), and of course I am constantly overcome with the desire to count every one of your freckles. Though I assume that is easier said than done, given that they are not localized to only your face. There is a way, of course, to remedy this difficulty in counting, but not a way I could undertake given that friends are often averse to removing clothing in the presence of friends."

"Oh, how wrong you were," John says, poking Alexander in the side. Alexander wriggles away from the tickling touch, fighting to keep the laptop on his knees. Still, his composure barely cracks, and John admires, like so many other things about him, his focus on this task.

"This brings me to the other side of my duality, which I would like to describe as an annoyance that you will never feel the same for me. This is not true. I do not blame you, and never will, for failing to love me back. I blame only myself for not being a person worthy of your love. I will avoid transcribing the long list of my faults here, since that isn't my point this evening, and say only this: I count myself lucky every second we are together that such a man as you shares his time, his energy, his apartment, his words, and his life with me. So thank you. I wish that you loved me back, of course, but I know there is no sense in wishing for the impossible. So instead, I will wish that we continue as we are. It is painful, unbearably so, but I have never been happier. In conclusion, I just realized the markers are missing. Give them back."

He sucks in a deep breath, and John moves to fill the void with words of his own, but Alexander breathes out the final words, little more than a few consonants hanging on the ends of a whisper.

"Yours, Alexander Hamilton."

John swallows. "Oh, Alex. How could you have ever thought I don't love you?"

"You weren't exactly obvious about it, to be fair."

"I had to stop myself from kissing you every time we got within a few feet of each other."

"Wait, that wasn't just me?" Alexander is raising his eyebrows.

"No, you dummy. I've loved you since we met."

"That still fucks me up, if I'm honest. But I love you too. Always have, always will."

Across the terminal, the big window, which just an hour earlier showed a view of a night-black sky filled with dizzy snowflakes, is displaying a dazzling mid afternoon sun. The screen to Alex's left comes to life, announcing which flights will be leaving when. They've been trapped in the airport for five and a half hours. Their flight is leaving at three. It's projected to take an hour and forty-nine minutes.

Maybe it's mental exhaustion from reading so many of Alexander's (brilliant, rambling) words. Maybe it's physical exhaustion from getting up so goddamn early.

When John Laurens wakes up, he is in South Carolina with his boyfriend gently shaking him back to consciousness.

"Merry Christmas," John mumbles.

"It's not for another two days, you know," Alex corrects. And then, at the look that John realizes must be on his face, Alexander grins. "Merry Christmas, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost Christmastime! Next chapter is when the Laurens family finally enters the picture.  
> Comments always make my day, so let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Also for those of you who haven't seen it already, the art heist AU story (which won the contest for "what should I write next?") now has two chapters up!


	21. Thunderstruck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderstruck (adj.) - Extremely surprised or shocked.  
> "John and Alexander were thunderstruck at the events, however small, that came to pass during Christmas at the Laurens household."

Mary Laurens got home for the holidays three days ago. The drive down to her childhood home was long and arduous, and she was driving distracted with her girlfriend on speakerphone almost the whole way down. After much debate, they decided that it would be best if they spent Christmas separately. After all, Mary's father Henry has never run a particularly gay-friendly household, especially since the death of her mother. Mary doesn't want to do anything that could provoke Henry's ire, least of all bringing home a girlfriend during the most wonderful time of the year. She figures her other siblings should know the drill by now.

 _So imagine my surprise,_ Mary thinks as she stares across the dining room table at her older brother's boyfriend.

 

Alexander's uncomfortable. He's not surprised, given that he's eating dinner on Christmas Eve with Henry Laurens himself. John introduced him yesterday as "my friend, Alexander Hamilton," and while he's not sure the little siblings suspect anything amiss, it was clear that papa bear recognized him right away.

He's never felt this much of a death glare in his life - and that's counting Asshole Thomas Jefferson.

"So," Alex says, addressing his speech to John's little brothers and sisters (except for Mary, who can hardly be called "little," he's lost track of them all). "What are you hoping to get for Christmas?"

Most of them aren't young enough to believe in Santa anymore, but the youngest girl (Martha? Eleanor?) pipes up right away. "I want a new notebook!" she chirps. "One of those nice ones with the hard covers that you see in the stationery store downtown. All of mine are full."

"Already?" asks one of the boys, mouth full. "I thought you just got a new one for your birthday?"

"My birthday was two weeks ago," she confides to Alexander before turning back to her brother. "And I wrote in the whole thing already."

"Girl after my own heart," Alexander says with a grin. "What d'you write?"

"Stories, mostly," she says with a shrug. "It's more fun that way. We're only reading nonfiction in English class right now and it's so  _boring._ "

"Your schoolwork is not boring, Eleanor," Henry grumbles from the head of the table. "It's-"

"My job, and we love our jobs so we do our best work," Eleanor recites. "I know, Papa, I know. But I still want a new notebook."

"Maybe you'll get one from Santa," John says with a grin.

"Santa's not real, Jacky, everybody knows that," Eleanor retorts.

"Well," Mary declares through her giggles, "I'm hoping to get socks for Christmas. This is how I know I've begun my descent into adulthood. I will be legitimately excited if I open up one of those packages and it has socks in it."

"It only gets worse from here," Alexander assures her, feeling more comfortable by the second. He likes the Laurens kids, all of them. They're the kind of plucky you get to be when you're raised in a strict household and you either choose to bend or push back until you break. They're pushers.

"What are you hoping for, Mr. Hamilton?" Henry Laurens asks tightly. It's the first direct, verbal acknowledgement he's received from John's father. Alexander does his best not to beam like an idiot.

"To be honest, sir, the only thing I could ask for would be more books. I'm slowly taking over the apartment with my collection, but I can never have too many. Besides, I'm sick of looking things up for research only to discover that the whole thing isn't available online."

Alexander watches the man's face, searching for signs of curiosity.  _He doesn't seem like a curious kind of dude, but I'm practically begging him for a follow-up question. C'mon, Henry Laurens. Be a cool dude. Be a cool dude._

After a pause that's too long to be polite, Henry grits out, "Research?"

"Yeah!" Alex says, jumping into the void with gusto. "I'm writing an essay series - working on getting it published at the moment, as a matter of fact. The topics are about as varied as they come, so I've built up quite the body of research. The one I'm working on at the moment regards scope-of-activity laws for trading companies."

For a brief, beautiful moment, Henry's face lights up.  _He and John look so much alike when they're smiling,_ Alexander thinks.

He watches John's father make a conscious effort to reel himself in before saying, "I actually head a trading company," he says.

John murmurs, "Here we go," into Alexander's ear. Alex grins.

"Not to brag, but we turn quite a profit. Goes all the way back to the late 1700s and the slave trade - though of course, we don't do that anymore." Henry chuckles genuinely. His children, who all seem to have heard this spiel a hundred times, force their laughs. Alexander's content with that, having gotten this much out of him, when Henry Laurens says, "Of course, I know a great deal about our scope-of-activity laws. I may have had to squirm out of a few legal issues in my day."

Alexander smiles, not even having to force it. "Really! You know, I considered going to law school, but I never had the money. Even full tuition wouldn't have saved me. But even so, I'm still fascinated by the law. You up for telling me about those legal issues, sir?"

"Not dinner-table conversation," he says, and Alex thinks he's lost, but, "Maybe later, Mr. Hamilton."

The kids sense that this is their opportunity to jump in before everyone starts talking in boring legal jargon. "Hey Jacky! How'd y'all get to be friends?" demands a boy. (Was that Henry Jr.? Alex thinks so, but he can't keep all these siblings straight."

"Well, we teach at the same school," John offers, squeezing Alex's hand under the table while all the attention is focused on his face. "Our classrooms are right across the hall from each other."

"But we actually met each other the night before school started. We were last-minute shopping for school supplies."

"And then you lived happily ever after?" asks one of the girls - must be Martha - with a raised eyebrow. She's in high school, the right age to be in Alexander's Writers' Workshop class, as far as he can tell.

"We're in the process," he offers. "Turns out happily ever after involves a lot of coffee."

 

It's after eleven at night when John hears a knock on his door. Logically, John knows there's no reason he should still be awake right now. He's exhausted, his childhood bed is marvelously comfortable, he just ate a big meal, and he's had a long day. 

But he's never been able to sleep on Christmas Eve.

"Come in," he murmurs. The door swings inward and in walks a slight figure, tiptoeing on the carpet and shutting the door with a soft click.

"Hey," Alex whispers. "Couldn't sleep without you next to me."

"Me neither. Too busy listening for reindeer. C'mere, snuggle up."

Alexander obliges, and while John can't see anything but an Alex-shadow in the dark, he feels a sudden boyfriend-shaped warmth in the bed next to him. Alexander curls up into his chest and tosses an arm over John's side, humming in tuneless contentment.

"I can't believe my dad likes you so much," John murmurs.

"Me either. You think he really likes me, though? I'm your gay boyfriend, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," John says with a mild laugh. "Which is why I still don't believe it, almost. But yeah, he likes you. I think he's about ready to adopt you in place of me, as a matter of fact. I never heard him talk so long about law to anybody. You know he wanted me to go to law school?"

Alexander makes an agreeable noise. "D'you know," he says after a moment, "that you've got more of an accent down here? Not as strong as the rest of your family, but more than I'm used to hearing from you."

With a chuckle, John clears his throat. "Why, do I? I hadn't even noticed."

"Okay,  _now_ you're just playing it up to fuck with me."

"And what if I am?"

He hears Alexander, in the dark next to him - his face is starting to become visible, John realizes as his eyes adjust - suck in a sharp breath. "It's kinda hot," he murmurs.

"I can work with this," John decides, grinning.

Alexander kisses the grin right off his face.

Laying in his childhood bed, feeling Alexander's chest rising and falling against his own, John watches the clock tick past midnight. "Merry Christmas, Alexander," he whispers against his shoulder.

"Merry Christmas," Alex mumbles.

 

The Laurens siblings and father all seem to appreciate their handmade cards. Henry Laurens regretfully (Alex is shocked to realize that it seems like genuine regret when he says it) informs Alexander that he didn't get him anything.

"Oh, on the contrary, sir," Alex says with a smile. "Your contributions to the latest essay are the best gift I could have asked for."

Eleanor gets a new notebook, among other things. Henry Jr. gets a pair of dress shoes for the impending winter formal at school, among other things. Martha gets a stack of t-shirts with superheroes on them, among other things. Mary gets socks, among other things.

Once all the presents under the tree are opened, wrapping paper balled up and tossed into a trash bag Henry Laurens keeps on hand for that purpose, Alexander puts the proceedings on hold. "Hang on," he says, jumping up from his spot on the couch between John and Mary -  _like a buffer of gay Laurens children._ "I just gotta grab something from my suitcase really quickly. Hang tight."

He all but sprints to his room, trying not to picture what the look on John's face will be when he opens the gift. He wants to keep John's reaction a surprise for himself, wants to do nothing but enjoy it when it happens. Alexander returns to the living room with a small, flat, rectangular box, hastily wrapped in red-and-gold striped paper and tied with a green ribbon bow. "One last present for John," he says by way of explanation.

"Well, go on, Jacky," says Henry Laurens, with something resembling fatherly affection in his voice.

Alexander watches, feeling his eyes go wide, as John unties the bow and strips the paper from the box underneath. He turns it over, holds it up, reads what's printed on the front.

A box of neon whiteboard markers.

John pushes himself off the couch, practically knocking Alexander over with a hug and a kiss. It feels impulsive and reckless and Alexander  _loves it_ , going with it in the way you have to when a rip current's dragging you out to sea. He grabs the back of John's ugly sweater like it's a lifeline.

"Thank you," John murmurs when he finally pulls away.

"So," Eleanor says, a little louder than necessary. "Are you two, like, boyfriends?"

"Yep," Alex says without hesitation. What have they got to lose? Across the room he sees Henry Laurens wince, sees on his face how he retreats back into himself.

"Cool," Eleanor says with a shrug. As though she's made the decision for all of her siblings - maybe she has; Alex still isn't quite clear on the power dynamics in this family - they all shrug and agree with some variation on "cool."

"You break his heart, I kill you," Mary says pleasantly.

"Gonna have to come all the way to New York City to do it," Alexander warns her. "But also you won't have to, because the day I break this man's heart is the day the world turns upside down."

"In that case," Mary replies with a smile, "cool."

They leave for the airport two evenings later. Henry Laurens drives them, silent and chilly, but he shakes Alexander's hand as he and John unload their bags from the trunk.

"You're..." Henry grimaces. "You're welcome back any time, Mr. Hamilton."

 _I can't decide whether I've lost or won,_ Alex thinks, but he smiles at Henry Laurens all the same. "I appreciate it, sir."

 

Elisa's wiped out. She's lying in bed - her bed, though it still doesn't feel quite like her own - at the Washington's house - her house, though it still doesn't feel quite like her own. On the nightstand, her phone vibrates until it's almost over the edge. She catches it just before it hits the floor.

There's a message in the debate club group chat, the one that includes their teacher. She reads it right away. A-Ham only sends messages if something important's going on.

_[From: A-Ham] hey guys! hope everyone's winter break is going well so far. just wanted to let y'all know (can i say y'all now that i've spent like three days in south carolina?) that i'm really lucky. it's easy to forget when we're there all the time, but liberty's a cool place full of cool people. so i'm always there for you if you people need me, okay? and i hope you're all doing well. happy new year, guys._

_[From: A-Ham] also there's a meeting the friday we get back, and we're doing a vacation-related speaking exercise, so y'all might wanna come prepared. just sayin'._

_[From: A-Ham] john laurens says you guys have permission to punch me if i say "y'all" in real life_

Elisa grins at her phone, changes the name of the group chat to "Debate Club, Y'all," and closes her eyes.


	22. Revise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revise (v.) - To reconsider and alter (something) in the light of further evidence.  
> "As Alexander revised his essays, Fate revised the happily-ever-after course of their lives."

Alexander Hamilton is surrounded by twenty-one kids, all of them bright-eyed despite the fact that it's a Friday morning and they've spent just three days in school this week. Everyone else is still recovering from winter vacation. But these kids are ready to go.

"Good morning, guys!" he chirps.

"Morning," chorus the debate kids.

"I know I promised you a vacation-related activity," he says. "I deliver on my promises. So just to prepare you, how about you take two minutes to practice? Just turn to a partner and tell them about something you did during your vacation. Try to include lots of details, please. You'll be presenting this speech to the whole group."

They turn to their partners. Nicola squints at him for a moment, searching his face for the twist, before fixing the lapels of her blazer and flagging Gloria down from across the room. Alex grins and rubs his palms together. This is going to be fun.

He hears a knock at the door and yanks it open, expecting John Laurens. He doesn't get John Laurens.

"Hey!" he crows. "We're having a debate club meeting right now, but if you-"

"I know. I... I want to join," says Cam.

"Oh. Okay! Great! C'mon in. I think Vic is our odd one out today, so you two can pair up. We're just telling our partners about what we did over winter break. Be nice and specific. This is practice for speaking in front of the whole group."

 _Geez, have I entered the Twilight Zone?_ Alex wonders as he watches Cam sit down next to Vic and start talking. He watches her mouth moving and tries to decipher the words.  _Cam is joining the one club that requires mostly-unrehearsed public speaking. John's father invited me back to South Carolina. Nothing makes sense anymore. And I kinda like it._

Not thirty seconds later, John walks in through the open door and greats Alexander with a hug. "The markers are settling nicely into their new home," he murmurs into Alex's neck. "I just tried drawing with them. They're just like the old ones."

"Great! So now you can stop stealing mine."

"Hah. As if." John pulls back. "Hey, what's Cam doing?"

"Joining the debate club," Alex whispers. "Don't make her feel weird about it."

"Wasn't about to," John says. "What's the activity?"

Alexander grins wickedly. "You'll see."

Once their prep time is up (he gives them extra so Cam has time to go over what she wants to say), Alexander claps his hands together for attention. "Alright, people, time to go. Nicola, you're up first, followed by Patricia, and then Cam. Tell us all what you did during your vacation."

Nicola squints at him but delivers an eloquent expository speech on skiing with her aunt's family. Patricia goes next, also looking suspicious, but gives a brief humorous anecdote about trying to shovel snow in a snowstorm.

Cam gets up from her seat. As she approaches the front of the room, her stride gets less confident. Alexander watches the reactions - surprise all around, even from Javier and Nicola. The only person who seems to understand what's happening is Elisa, who smiles, nods, and looks pointedly down at her desk. Away from Cam, like she pinky-swore that she wouldn't watch while Cam spoke.

"Over the break," Cam says in a voice that's not quite her own.  _It's her Hero voice,_ Alex realizes. "I... I realized I should come to terms with my... my fear of speaking up, because... the play was such a rewarding experience, and it's been... I'm..." She looks helplessly out at the crowd of wide-eyed faces, straight backs, folded hands, and ducks her face behind her hair. "I can't," she mumbles to the floor.

"It's okay," Alex says, steering her back to her seat with a hand on her shoulder. "First time is always hard. You got up there in front of the group, which is the hardest part. Give it up for our newest member, guys!"

Applause fills the room, and it's more than polite. As she plops back down next to Vic, Cam is blushing and hiding behind her hair. But from the little bit of her face Alexander can see, he recognizes the edges of a smile, the kind that means she feels a little bit like a wolf.

"Alright, next up is Javier."

Javier gives Cam's shoulder a squeeze before bouncing up to the front of the room, his perpetual grin not once leaving his face.

"You got what you want to say all sorted out?" Alex asks him. "Lots of details? Good. Because you're speaking on the count of three. Oh... and it has to be a total lie. Onetwothreego."

Javier wastes less than a second in shell shock before his shoulders relax and he tilts his chin upward. "Over my vacation, I visited the beautiful planet of Pluto. I was hoping to get away from the cold New York winter, and I could not have chosen a worse destination. However, I was pleased by the fact that Pluto didn't snow."

He gives a detailed account of his travels within the solar system, stumbling over his words every once in awhile, just enough to make it obvious that he's making this shit up as he goes. Alexander couldn't be prouder. Javier, too, receives applause when he sits down.

Alex and John split up the work of calling on people now, always keeping them on their toes so they can't quite have anything prepared. You thought you were gonna have to lie? No, tell us the truth. Truth. Truth. Lie. Truth. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie. Truth. As is usual with Alexander's speaking activities, the debate kids get really into it, and they get quicker as time passes. Before any of them realizes time has passed, it's three minutes until the bell.

"Bye! See y'all next week - wait wait shit I didn't say y'all, nobody punch me!"

John socks Alexander in the shoulder, but he can't hit very hard because he's laughing. Alexander kisses him on the cheek, overwhelmed with love. For the kids, for John, for teaching.

"Hey," Cam mutters. Alex glances over at her.

"You did well," he says.

"I'll do better," she insists. "Is it always... like that?"

Alexander motions for her to come closer, like he's about to say something confidential. "Honestly? Yes. It is. There's always people watching. The only thing that changes is you. And don't you dare tell me you can't do it. I remember the first few weeks of school, when I practically fainted seeing you ask Angelica Schuyler for a book, cuz she was the first adult I'd ever seen you speak to. You've come such a long way, Cam Nguyen. And I'd bet my life on it that you'll go further."

"Were you ever scared?"

"I did debate in high school and college. My first-ever tournament, I got up there and had to do extemporaneous, and I was so nervous I stuttered through half a sentence and sat back down."

"Really?"

Alex snorts. "Well, no. Had a time limit of two minutes, talked for six until they had to shout me off the podium because I had so goddamn much I wanted to say. That was the same year I was class treasurer and got accused of using our fundraisers to pay for shit for the people in the year below us because I was hanging out with the president of their class. And I put this whole big thing in the school newspaper about how I was most certainly  _not_ stealing from the senior class, and actually I was just cheating on my girlfriend with the junior class president. Back before I figured out the whole gay thing. Point being, no. I was the opposite of scared, and however much of a talkative idiot I am now, it used to be worse. But there's nothing wrong with being scared."

Cam is laughing through her nose at his story. "There isn't?" she manages.

"Nope. Being scared means you care. And I want my students to care."

She nods. "And is debate club always... like this?"

"Pretty much, though I'm always open to activity suggestions. Did you enjoy yourself?"

She pauses to consider. "I felt like a wolf."

 _Hey,_ Alex thinks,  _that's my metaphor._ But he smiles at Cam and says, "Get to class, you crazy kid," and she does.

"That was cool," John says. He's leaning on Alexander's desk. "That was cool of you."

Alexander pulls him in by his shirt collar and kisses him, just once. "Get to class, you crazy kid," he teases. John leans his forehead on Alexander's.

"Fine," he says.

On his way out, he snatches two markers off of the whiteboard before Alexander can catch him.

 

_[From: Elisa <3} holy shit idk WHAT just happened to a-ham but homeboy is grinning like an idiot_

_[To: Elisa <3] Why are you texting during class?_

_[From: Elisa <3] why are U texting during class hm??????? (also it's workshop time and i'm done with my essay _ _sooooo)_

_[To: Elisa <3] I'm in study hall. Ask A-Ham what's going on. Do you think it's Laurens's fault? (Laurens's?)_

_[From: Elisa <3] ok so i just asked and it's something to do with these things he's been writing. i didn't know he wrote? but it makes sense. i s2g he has too many words stored up for one dude. anyway just thought u should know that he's happy_

_[To: Elisa <3] Thank you for the update, oh ever-appreciated girlfriend. Stop texting during class._

_[From: Elisa <3] fiiiiiiiine. ur still coming over after school, yeah?_

_[To: Elisa <3] Of course. Is the gang coming, too? Because I thought I heard Vic say that he has work._

_[From: Elisa <3] nah no gang. just us._

_[To: Elisa <3] Perfect! See you then. xx_

_[From: Elisa <3} :*_

 

"John, holy  _shit_ ," Alexander says, practically kicking down his classroom door in his excitement. "You know my essays?"

"I sure do," John says with a smile. He doesn't look up yet, because the second he looks up at the smile he hears in Alexander's voice, he knows he'll be lost. He can't be lost just yet, not until he finishes double-checking that his answer key for Tuesday's test makes sense. 

"Well. You read the one about Shakespeare, right?"

"Which one?"

"The one about reading it in different accents, and how it sounds most natural when you read it with a neutral sort of New England accent. Touches on linguistic changes over the past five centuries, plus bits about the American Revolution and the construction of the Globe Theater?"

 _One of my favorites,_ John remembers. "Yeah, I read that one. Why?"

As he finishes double-checking his answer key, John decides it's safe to look up. It's a good thing he waited, because he feels that dizzy falling sensation in the pit of his stomach that he still gets when he looks at Alexander. He's smiling so hard that the corners of his eyes are scrunched up, and his hair has all come loose from its ponytail and is settling at his shoulders, framing that glow of a grin with black curtains.

"The New Yorker wants it. John, the _New Yorker._ I've got a ton of edits to make, obviously, and I've gotta work with their editing team and figure out the format, but they might publish more of my stuff if this goes over well because they really liked it! So I've got to edit all that too, ugh, I've got so much work to do and it's gonna be  _amazing._ The New Yorker!"

John springs from his seat, leaving it spinning behind him, and yanks Alexander into a hug. He doesn't want to let go. "Alex, I'm so happy for you! Not surprised, of course, but still, that's the greatest thing! We gotta tell everybody."

"Mass-texted it," Alex admits. "The Schuylers are all overjoyed. Laf thinks it's great, Herc says this better not go to my head. Aaron Burr says it's, and I quote, 'pretty cool.'"

John snorts. "Hey," he says, "why didn't I get a text?"

"Wanted to tell you in person," Alexander says, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "C'mon, let's go home."

"You wanna go out? Celebratory dinner?"

Alexander pulls away but keeps his hands on John's shoulders. "Nah. Too much work to do! Holy shit, John, I'm gonna be in the New Yorker. This has gotta be the third-best thing that's happened to me, ever."

"What's the second?"

"Getting into college," Alex says, still not pulling away from John.

"What's the first?"

John receives a kiss on the nose. "You."

 

Alexander makes straight for his room once they get home. He leaves the door open, tells John to order whatever he feels like for dinner. He's got to get to work editing this right now. He's not confident in his ability to make it shorter - that'll have to be up to the people at the magazine - but he can at least spice up his word choice, improve his sources, get a real interview with one of his Shakespeare-loving friends from Columbia. He's still got to have some of them on his Facebook.

Weirdly enough, John brings him a plate of Chinese takeout, gives him a kiss on the cheek, and shuts the door behind him. Alexander doesn't pause to dwell on it. He's got so much work to do.

Again, oddly, John comes in with something in his hands, leaves it next to Alexander's bed, and exits. The door's open this time. Maybe John says something? Alexander isn't sure. He's not sure what John leaves on his bedside table. When he's waiting for his work to save for the thousandth time, he glances over, and it's gone.

He keeps working. He's filled with electricity. His whole body is buzzing. There is no world besides him and the computer.

_No one. Pities you. While you're working._

 

 

Hercules Mulligan picks up his cell phone. "Dude, what? My text alerts have been off for the past two hours and apparently you just texted me like thirty times. Is something going on? And could you have called Lafayette? No offense man, but I nearly sewed my hand to the table taking your call."

"You have a car."

"Yeah... What's your point, man?"

John Laurens sounds panicked. "I need you to drive us to the hospital. Like, now."

Hercules shuts off his sewing machine and runs for the door, shoving his feet into his shoes and shrugging a coat on. "Shit. Shit, man, okay, I'm on my way out the door. I'm locking the apartment. I'm headed for my car. What the hell's going on?"

"It's Alex. Just... get here fast."

He speeds wherever he finds a clear street and honks, swearing at the top of his lungs, when he doesn't. He arrives at John's apartment in record time to find John already waiting on the front steps, Alexander Hamilton flopped over on him like a rag doll.

"Help me carry him," John says as Herc steps out of his car. "I don't know how long he's been like this. He's been working since Friday night, I couldn't get him to stop. And just a few minutes ago, I walked in and he was just... like this."

"And?" Herc asks, almost afraid of what comes next.

"And I can't get him to wake up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> Hearing how you feel about the story makes my day every time!


	23. Stasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stasis (n.) - A period or state of inactivity or equilibrium.  
> "John realized that Alexander looked wrong in stasis; his body was meant to be in motion at all times."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: this entire chapter takes place in a hospital. No graphic descriptions, but mentions of needles and other hospital-y stuff. If that freaks you out, skip this chapter.

It's a Sunday afternoon. Elisa and Nicola are curled up together in the Washingtons' basement, watching the latest in a long string of Disney movies. Javier and Yolanda are recovering from Sunday dinner with their extended family. Vic and Cam are eating frozen yogurt at the mall and people-watching.

A message appears in the debate club group chat (still called "Debate Club, Y'all" thanks to Elisa). Though they all feel their phones go off, only Nicola pulls hers out of her pocket to check it.

"Real romantic, Nic," Elisa jokes.

"It's the group chat. It might be important."

 

The group chat rarely says anything that should be checked right away. Nicola, on the other hand, must be obeyed as soon as possible when she's the one to text first. For this reason, many of the members of the debate club have a special Nicola text alert tone, from the days even before A-Ham. Recovering from Sunday dinner or people-watching though they may be, when they hear the Nicola sound, they check their phones.

_[From: Nicola] BEGIN FORWARDED MESSAGE: Hi everybody, it's Laurens. I'm using Alexander's phone to let you know that neither of us will be at school tomorrow, at the very least. We've called in sick, and there are sub plans, but we thought - or rather, I thought - the debate club deserves to know what's going on. Currently, we're in the waiting room at the hospital. I don't know what's wrong with Alexander, but it seems like it could be serious. I don't want you guys to worry or do anything drastic, but depending on how it goes, the debate meeting this Wednesday might be canceled. Thanks._

_[From: Nicola] Clearly, this is bad._

Vic reads the message to Cam. She stares at him, her cardboard cup frozen yogurt forgotten on the bench beside her. People flow by their bench, tossing pennies into the fountain beside them, and Cam and Vic remain static.

"They trust us with a lot," Cam murmurs.

Vic nods. "They do."

 

Javier is in his room, top bunk (even though he's never shared the bunk bed), computer playing a video on his lap. He doesn't care about the video. He pushes it to the side and rereads the message before forwarding it to Yolanda. Under a minute later, she bursts into his room without knocking.

"Shit," she says.

"Pretty much," Javier agrees.

"So what d'you think happened to him?" she asks. And then, after a pause, "Do you think this means Laurens will cancel our quiz on early gun warfare tomorrow?"

Javier retorts, "I see you've got your priorities straight."

"I use sarcasm as a defense mechanism,  _hermanito_ , you know that. I'm fucking worried. But also I didn't study for that test."

"It'll probably be canceled. And what's got me confused is that they don't know what's wrong with A-Ham. Like, can he not stop coughing? Is he in a coma? Can he not use one of his legs? What does that even mean?"

Yolanda shakes her head. She climbs up the ladder of the bunk bed, almost hitting her head on the ceiling, to sit down beside him. She wraps an arm around her brother and they do nothing but sit, up there on the top bunk.

"We just gotta keep doing what we're doing and hope he's okay," Yolanda says.

"I know."

"Hey." Javier turns to her, and she smiles. "Give your English sub a hard time for me."

Javier rolls his eyes. "Of course."

"I love you,  _hermanito_."

He lolls his head against his sister's shoulder and tries not to worry. It doesn't work. " _Te amo tambien_ , big sis," he says.

 

John's not sure how they got from hospital waiting room to hospital examination room to eerily quiet hospital room filled with beds and back to the waiting room, this time without Alex. It didn't take very long - probably to do with how Hercules Mulligan half-charmed, half-intimidated the woman at the front desk into getting them in here.

His head is swimming with phrases, things the doctors have told him that are still moving from the ear they went in to the ear by which they'll go out.

"His body has more or less gone into shutdown mode-"

"-been eating or sleeping recently-"

"-can be very detrimental, especially for someone with such a low body weight-"

"-shouldn't be serious if we act fast-"

"-giving him fluids, should wake up by tomorrow morning-"

"-has this ever happened before?"

He answered all the questions to the best of the ability. John's sitting in a chair with a fraying cushion and focusing on the words  _shouldn't be serious_. He's hanging on to those words, because the last thing he saw was a burnt-out Alexander, no batteries, no lightning, curled up on a bed getting a needle stuck in his arm. John's trying his hardest to believe what the doctors tell him, because right now?

It looks pretty serious.

"Hey man," Hercules murmurs. "You're gonna be okay."

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about him," John points out.

"I know. You should go home. It's getting late, and it's not like they'll let you see him until morning anyway."

"I called in sick for tomorrow so I could stay with him."

Hercules groans, and John knows it's because he's being stubborn. "So I'll drive you here before school tomorrow and you can linger by his bedside all day and waste away until you're a waif, or whatever. Just go home, Laurens. Get some sleep. Don't want you ending up like Alexander."

John grimaces. "Fine. But I'm coming back tomorrow."

"I know."

He lets Hercules lead him to the car, still not feeling like his body is his own. Part of him feels like it's lingering by Alex's bedside for real, and John feels a tug in his stomach the further he gets from the hospital. He clutches his cell phone, the one he listed as the emergency number to call if there's something going on with Alexander, and nervously alternates between turning the volume up and putting it on vibrate. He worries.  _What if something happens to him? What if his condition deteriorates, or whatever they called it, and I don't even get there to see him until morning? What if I don't get to say goodbye?_

John Laurens has to bite his lip to keep from crying.

Before Alex, he never wanted a goodbye.

Despite his set decision that he won't sleep, he can't, John's worries tire him out. Once Hercules nudges him through his apartment door, he's more or less dead to the world. He puts his bag down, takes off his shoes and hoodie. The rhythm feels off without Alex opposite him. It's a dance meant for two people.

John collapses into bed - that, too, feels wrong without Alexander - and is asleep within minutes.

He has strange dreams. Everything smells like the hospital in his dreams, but he's at a spa - no, a school - no, a factory. Wherever he is, the people there are trying to take something of his. Sometimes they want his clothes. Sometimes they want to cut his hair. Once he is holding a book and people close in and try to rip it out of his arms. John punches anybody who gets too close, and some of them turn into Charles Lee. He takes extra satisfaction in that.

Someone comes up to him, reaching for his hand, and he tees off, fist to jaw. The person falls, and John sees that it's Alexander. He drops the book (it's gone before it hits the ground) and tries to help Alexander, but the closer he gets, the harder it is to move.

The people who wanted his book take Alexander instead.

John wakes up to his phone buzzing. He pounces on it, hoping for a call from the hospital. Instead, he gets a text from Hercules, proclaiming that he'll be there in half an hour. Sent ten minutes ago. John jumps out of bed, showers in record time, and grabs one of those gigantic granola bars he bought, for some reason, to serve as breakfast. It's nowhere near the same league as Alexander's cooking, but it'll have to do.

By the time Hercules shows up (right on time), John is dressed, hair still wet and pulled back in a fraying bun, bouncing on the soles of his feet. He's got the kind of nervous, frenetic energy he hasn't felt in a long time. Energy, yes. But this is the bad kind, the kind that makes him go off on somebody or do something impulsive or run headlong into the sort of danger that's called "mortal" for a reason. 

"Morning, Herc," he says, almost an afterthought, as he locks the apartment door behind him.

"You too," Hercules replies gruffly. John doesn't know him to be a morning person, so the attitude is understandable.

"Thanks," John tries. "For everything."

Herc shrugs. "You'd do it for me."

He drops John off at the hospital entrance and pulls away, promising to say hello to everyone at school for him. John thinks he probably won't remember to do so. It doesn't matter. The nurses who flurry around give John pitying looks as he sits in the waiting room, same chair as yesterday, biding his time until visiting hours open. Somewhere deep within him, there's a stab of rational thought behind the cloudiness.

_Alex might prefer being in the hospital bed to being here. He hates people pitying him._

He's not sure if Alexander's ever said that aloud. It's just, like so much else, something he knows about the man he loves.

As soon as they let him in - a few minutes early, John notices - he makes for Alexander's bedside. It's not a very interesting place to be. There's a sleeping man with a few needles in his arm. They've taken his hair down, so it splays out around him on the pillow, getting in his face and surrounding his head like a spillage of ink. He's got on one of those awful hospital gowns, and John wonders how and when they got him into it.

His breathing is slow and even. It's weird, seeing him like this, without batteries. He is never this steady.

John's still got enough humor about the situation to find it funny that the thing that keeps him grounded and level is normally so cacophonous and rollicking and in motion. Alexander looks wrong when he's not in motion.

"I've never had your talent for the spoken word," John murmurs, "but if talking is going to get you to wake up - and let's be honest, if anything will wake you up, it's gonna be talking - I'll do it. Though maybe an argument would do it better, huh? I can text Laf, tell him to get Asshole Thomas Jefferson over here to say some inflammatory stuff about our government and watch you sit right up just to tell him off. Or maybe I'll just tell Angelica Schuyler to fake dumb opinions. You two seem to argue well enough sometimes. But me... I don't think we've ever argued once. Is that weird? Aren't couples supposed to fight a lot?"

He pauses, takes a breath. Alexander is steady.

"Or maybe that's just what sitcoms wanted to think. If you were awake right now, maybe we'd be fighting. I'm almost mad enough at you, not eating or sleeping until you did  _this_ to yourself, but I don't think I have it in me to do it. I dunno if you understand, Alexander, I'd give in in a second. I can't stop myself. It's like that one line from Much Ado, the funny one - 'come, bid me do any thing for thee.' You could, and I wouldn't tell you no. I couldn't. And maybe you wouldn't do that - it's probably not a healthy attitude, don't do that - but my god, just wake up for me, Alexander."

His voice drops. "They said you should have woken up by now."

He waits by Alexander's bedside and talks and tries to ignore the fact that he really has to pee. Eventually, he has to leave.

"I'll be right back," he tells Alexander's battery-less body, kissing him on the nose as though that will make any difference. He gets turned around twice on his way to the bathroom. It's painted in bright colors, meant to make children feel safe and comfortable in the midst of all these beeping machines. John, feeling neither safe nor comfortable, gets lost again on his way back to Alexander's room. All told, what was meant to be a bathroom break takes him over twenty minutes.

As he approaches the room, he hears the voice of a frazzled woman. "-still need to rest, and  _please_ lie back down-"

"And another thing!" says Alexander Hamilton's voice.

 

Alex fucking hates hospitals. The last time he was in one, he was twelve, and that didn't turn out so great, least of all for his mom. He's also not a big fan of needles, and there are two stuck into his forearm. And on top of all of that, he doesn't want anybody's pity, but this nurse is giving it to him in spades.

"This was just an isolated incident. I am perfectly healthy," he retorts, voice hot. Talking hurts his throat, but he's not about to point that out. "I eat a minimum of two square meals a day, I exercise, I keep my mind in good shape-"

"Sir, your body shut down because of a long string of dietary and sleep deprivation. Your stunt this weekend-"

"It wasn't a stunt."

"-Just happened to be the straw that broke the camel's back. Now if you would please  _lie down_ , sir, you're going to tear your IVs out-"

"Would you quit arguing with her, Alexander?"

Alex snaps his head toward the doorway and ignores the crick in his neck that aches when he does so. John's standing there, looking nervous and harried but beautiful, always beautiful. His hair is up, his shirt is untucked, and there's a blossoming smudge of purple beneath each of his eyes. Even so, he looks bright and alert and, if Alexander knows anything about him, ready to wrap him up in a hug so tight it feels like he'll never let go.

"Good morning, John," Alexander says pleasantly.

When John kisses him, the nurse (much to Alex's satisfaction) seems to get fed up with them and stalks off to find someone else to deal with Alex.

He grins into the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's awake! But still in the hospital. And still not taking nearly good enough care of himself.
> 
> Comments are at least 98% of my motivation, so let me know what you think!


	24. Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liberation (n.) - The act of setting someone free; release.  
> "Alexander's liberation from the hospital made John - and everyone else at Liberty - feel as though everything would be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More hospital here, though not graphically described and not throughout the whole chapter - read at your own risk.

They tell Alexander he's not allowed to go home until Friday at the earliest. They have to monitor him to ensure that he's exhibiting appropriate eating and sleeping habits. They might put him on some sort of meds. He's arguing fervently against the meds.

John stays with him on Tuesday, too. The nurses seem to be giving him extended hours, or maybe they just know it won't end well if they try to kick him out.

"Go home, John," Alexander chides on Tuesday evening. "There's a debate meeting tomorrow. They gotta have it - there's a tournament this whole weekend, Saturday and Sunday. Besides, can't have both of us wasting away in a hospital bed. Someone's gotta get some work done and clearly it won't be me." He gestures to himself. They've taken one of his IVs out but left the other, and Alex has to be on guard at all times to avoid dislodging it.

"I don't want to leave you here," John insists. "The food here is shit."

"True. They want me eating on a regular basis, they shouldn't feed me this stuff." Alex grins. "I'm serious, John. Go home. Go to school tomorrow. The debate club needs you more than I do. I'll survive."

That seems to be what convinces him.  _Makes sense,_ Alexander thinks.  _If there's one thing I'm uncannily good at, it's not dying._

The next day will be lonely, Alex thinks. Just him and the TV playing reruns of  _Days Of Our Lives_ in the corner. But then they let him have his cell phone back, and John and the kids all send him periodic updates via text and group chat, and it almost feels like he's there.

If "there" included dull walls and cold air and a numb forearm and not nearly enough work, it'd be a perfect fit.

 

"Hey," Javier says on Wednesday afternoon. He's sitting in the cafeteria, sharing his food with Elisa. Mrs. Washington cooks, but she hasn't mastered the joys of Mexican food yet, and Elisa misses her mom's cooking (if nothing else). Javier swaps forkfuls of his  _arroz con pollo_ for her chicken salad sandwich.

"Hey yourself," Nicola says, pointing at him with her spoon. Some of the school's mysterious soup sloshes back into her bowl.

"We should get flowers or something," he continues. His friends like to give him a hard time when he makes incomplete statements like this, especially Vic, but he knows they all understand. "Have Laurens bring them, at least."

Vic, to his credit, nods thoughtfully. "Why bother with Laurens? No offense to him, of course. But aren't visiting hours in the afternoon? We could just grab some flowers and a card or whatever and stop by today or tomorrow after school. Not like anybody's parents will mind, right?"

They share a round of laughter at that. They've spent their lives - or most of their lives, anyway - growing up in New York City. Their parents can't afford not to trust them with things like this. 

"Sure, yeah. I bet some other people will want in, too, but we can't have too many. Let's do it today," Elisa says. Javier's noticed that, despite Nicola's obvious leadership, it's when Elisa makes a decision that it sticks.

"Not flowers and a card, though," Cam puts in. "That's not..."

"That's not very A-Ham," Javier agrees. "I don't know what is, though. Will they let us bring coffee into the hospital for him?"

"I would bet on too much coffee being the reason he's there in the first place," Nicola points out, "so no. Though that does give me an idea. Keep the flowers, lose the card. Put 'em in a coffee mug instead of a vase. It'll be super."

"Stellar," Vic agrees.

"Splendid," Cam adds.

"Stupendous!" Elisa crows.

"Si," Javier agrees with a smile. "After school today, then? We can split up, someone gets a mug, someone gets flowers, and meet up at the hospital. Hopefully they let us in to see him. What'll we do if they don't?"

"They will," Elisa says. "Because if they don't, we'll just say 'tell him we were here,' and he'll have negotiated us in within five minutes."

"True," Cam says, tilting her head in acknowledgement.

"So-o," Nicola says in a change-the-topic sort of way, "Cam. You excited for your first debate tournament this weekend?"

Cam groans. "Don't remind me. I'm so nervous, I think I'm going to throw up."

"Not on me, please," Javier warns. "I happen to like this shirt."

"Trust me, honey, anything Cam could do to that shirt would just improve it," Vic retorts. They share another round of laughter, five friends clustered around a lunch table. They have a goal and a plan and, if their past record is any indication, a good deal of luck on their side.

They can't wait.

 

John Laurens spends his free period grading the sub work. He doesn't look up from his desk, which he regards as a good thing. The work keeps him busy enough that he doesn't think about the room across the hall being empty and dark. He doesn't drift across the room to the whiteboard to pass the time doodling in neon until Alexander comes in. Each set of markers stays securely in its own classroom. There's no point in stealing them without Alexander.

It occurs to John that, during the day, when he's got his classes, he doesn't think about much else. He can't, or else the vibrant tide of high school threatens to overwhelm him. But after the day is over, so much of what he enjoys about this job is Alexander.

He heads to the teachers' lounge after the final bell for a coffee refill in Alexander's honor. On his way, he passes a gaggle of kids he's come to know very well: the five who seem to show up everywhere (Nicola, Elisa, Javier, Cam, Vic), plus Eloise and Joe, plus Yolanda and Kay and James from his Military History class.

"Where're you all headed?" John asks.

"Different places," Yolanda says. "I'm helping these crazy kids-" She gestures to Nicola and Elisa. "-pick out some flowers."

"We're buying a coffee mug," Cam interjects, waving a hand at Javier and Vic and herself.

"We're going home for the time being," James says. "At least, I think we all are?" Everyone else nods in agreement. 

"That's the plan," Eloise says.

John glances between one face and the next, searching for some signs of the plan, as Eloise put it, hidden in their freckles or their acne or the creases between their eyebrows. They give nothing away. Either these kids are acting suspicious for no reason, or they're fabulous liars. John would put money on the second one.

"Well. Have fun," he offers.

"We're planning on it," Nicola says.

He gets his coffee and gets sidetracked discussing  _Fahrenheit 451_ with Angelica Schuyler and manages not to worry about the kids. He's got so much other worrying to do, and it's been proven time and again that they can handle themselves. He forgets about it.

At least, until he sees them again.

 

Alexander's trying to read, but people keep fussing over him and it feels too much like pity for his comfort. He tells them, time and again, that he'd be sleeping and eating like a normal person if they just let him out of the goddamn hospital bed, but no, a medical degree seems to make a person believe they know better.

 _I mean, they do,_ Alexander thinks,  _but still!_

When the door to the room bursts open with more force than the nurses and doctors and specialists tend to employ, he's expecting John. This makes the parade of high schoolers far more interesting.

"A-Ham!" Javier says with a bright smile, leading the procession. "We miss you."

"Who's your sub?" he asks, taking stock of the kids in the room. Ten of them. Cam is holding something behind her back, and he cranes his neck to try and see, but to no avail.

"They've had a few different ones," Elisa supplies. "None of them fun. Half of it's been shitty busywork because they don't let us talk, so we get through everything too fast. Yesterday's didn't believe me when I said you let us talk while we work."

"That's bullshit," Alex agrees amicably. "You'll be happy to hear that I'm negotiating for my return by Friday morning. They want to keep me for the whole day, but I wouldn't miss the last practice before the tournament if my life depended on it."

"You're in the hospital," Kay points out. "It might."

"Okay, yeah, that's fair. Cam, what're you hiding there?" Alex's curiosity is getting the better of him. He can't wait any longer to find out. The kids all look at each other, grinning, but more towards Javier and Nicola than anybody else. Alexander tries to decipher the looks.  _They must have come up with this plan, whatever it is._

"We brought you something," Cam mumbles, stepping forward and producing a mug from behind her back. It's plain white, with black text that says  _a yawn is a silent scream for coffee_ , and the top of it is overflowing with a starburst of purple flowers. Touched, Alex brings a hand to his heart and feels the sharp tug of the IV. He rolls his eyes.

"Thanks so much! You better not have spent your lunch money on this."

"Nah, just our college funds," Vic jokes. "You want us to put it on the table?"

"That'd be fantastic."

As Cam moves to place the mug on the table and Alexander asks some question about school, the door bangs open again, this time in a distinctly John Laurens way. John pauses in the doorway, taking in the ten kids clustered around Alex's bedside. He's got a thermos in his hand, and Alex wonders if it contains coffee.

John approaches. Alex follows his gaze from the kids to the mug of flowers on the table and sees the moment his confusion changes into laughter.

"This was the plan," John says, giggling.

"This was the plan," Joe confirms.

"This is a great plan," John says.

"It is great!" Elisa agrees, winking at Nicola.

"Grand," Nicola adds.

"Gracious?" Javier puts in.

"Good!" Cam says.

Alexander looks around. Ten students, one teacher. Ten people he can almost consider his friends, one he thinks must be the love of his life at this point. In the background, he notices the TV has switched from  _Days Of Our Lives_ to  _That 70's Show_. Alexander doesn't feel so annoyed anymore.

He smiles at the crowd, his crowd. "Groovy," he says.

They release him from the hospital on Thursday evening. The coffee mug full of flowers finds a new home on a windowsill in the kitchen. Alexander googles plant maintenance so as not to let it die.

His first night home, he sleeps in John's bed (their bed at this point) and gets a full seven hours, thank you very much.

 

"I've been thinking," John says.

"I would hope so," Alex retorts with a grin. They're on the subway, twenty-five of them - Lafayette is taking roll call of the kids for a second time. He agreed to come along because Richmond Academy will be at the tournament. Also, Alex suspects, because he's emotionally invested in the team doing well.

He likes having twenty-five people in the subway car. Two actual advisors, one semi-advisor, and twenty-two kids. An even number, good for pairing people up, not too many and not too few. Cam adds a lot to the team. But then again, they all do.

"No, I mean, I've been  _thinking_ ," John repeats, emphasizing the last word. "About, well, everything, really. This has been a weird year and it's only, what, February? But everything's worked out. Sort of. Like, you still have issues with caring for yourself like a normal human-"

"But, I'm getting published in the New Yorker, so does it really matter?"

"Yes, it matters, Alex. I still kind of want to kill myself sometimes, but, like, low-key. Thank you for that, by the way."

Alex kisses him on the temple. "Any time, my dearest Laurens."

"And, like, we're still first-year teachers. Sure, the principal is kind of our dad and the staff is kind of our family, but still. We've got a long road ahead of us. Advising more clubs, maybe doing more plays... hell, some of these kids graduate in June. What then?"

Alex shrugs. "We write them the best goddamn college recommendations you've ever seen, and we move on, but we get really proud when we see their names in the papers. Time moves on whether we like it or not, y'know? The best we can do is stay one step ahead of it."

"Or in your case, eight or nine steps."

"What can I say? I'm the best."

"You were just in the hospital for trying to stay nine steps ahead of time, Alexander. Maybe stick to five or six."

Alex rolls his eyes. "Fiiiiine, John. But yeah, I guess my point is, I think everything's gonna work out okay. After all, it has so far, right?"

John squeezes his hand. "It sure has."

The train jerks to a stop, throwing everybody in the car against each other, a tangle of red, white, and blue shirts. Alexander still likes them, no matter what John and Laf say about them being ugly. The kids pile outside, staying together through hands on backs, through linked arms, through the careful shepherding of the three adults around them. They make their way up to street level to check in at the tournament.

Alex catches Cam at the back of the crowd. She's straggling, playing with the hem of her t-shirt. "Hey," Alex says as he falls into step with her. "You gonna make it through?"

"I think so," Cam murmurs. "I can see them all already, in my head. It's... not good."

"If you need to tap out, tap out," Alexander tells her. "I won't think any different, and neither will anybody else."

"I won't need to," Cam says, and though her voice is still almost inaudible, she looks Alexander right in the eye. "And I'm not going to. I'm a wolf, remember?"

"We're all wolves," Alexander agrees. "You most of all."

Lafayette stops everybody for one final roll call outside the school. They're a gigantic bundle of red, white, and blue, variant skin and hair sticking up from a mass of school spirit. Twenty-five people, a nice round number. Alexander grabs John's hand and pulls him closer.

They walk inside together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next chapter will be the last. Twenty-five chapters, a nice round number.
> 
> Comments make me super happy!


	25. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue (n.) - A section or speech at the end of a book or play that serves as a comment on or a conclusion to what has happened.  
> "Despite the fact that the school year was over, the afternoon felt not like an epilogue to their story, but like one of many more beginnings."

The Washingtons' backyard is way too small for this.

It started with the Washingtons, Elisa included, eating dinner that Elisa cooked (turns out, she knows Mexican food like the back of her hand and is happy to cook for her current caretakers). Over empanadas, they discussed the rapid approach of the end of the year.

"I can't believe another year's come and gone," George commented. "Finals are tomorrow, and then summer. Or, well, not quite summer for us, but summer for you, Elisa. Still, no more morning bells for a whole two months."

"Bet you're thrilled," Martha teased. "Either way, it's been a good one, hasn't it?"

George nodded thoughtfully. "I believe it has. The new hires settled in nicely, one of our largest clubs was revitalized, and I'm still doing better than Principal King ever did, if I say so myself. We ought to celebrate. It feels like ages since I've gotten to have a good barbecue."

"You almost set the house on fire last time," Martha pointed out.

"Well, that's why I don't try to grill things indoors anymore. We'll celebrate outside."

Elisa had perked right up at that. "Ooh, can I invite my friends?"

"Sure!" Martha offered. "The more the merrier, right? And George, you ought to invite some of the staff. Have John and Alexander over, at the very least. Oh, and Hercules, and Lafayette, I love those two. And you may as well invite the Schuyler girls, too."

"I gotta go text everybody. When's this going down? Saturday?" Elisa asked, already zipping off toward her room. And just like that, it was out of George's hands, Martha and Elisa feeding off each other to produce an ever-expanding guest list. 

So here they are, all crammed into the Washingtons' little backyard, teachers and students mingling but still distinct groups, the smell of mildly overcharred hamburgers in the air. John and Alexander are here, as well as Angelica and Eliza and Peggy, plus Hercules and Lafayette and even Aaron. Elisa invited a ton of her friends. Yolanda de la Rosa is here. Eloise and Joe are here. And, of course, Nicola, Javier, Vic, and - of course, of course - Cam are here.

George Washington flips a hamburger, adjusts his apron, and smiles.

 

Elisa feels like a little kid. A backyard barbecue, surrounded by her family, kids and adults alike. There's watermelon. There's a relative (well, A-Ham) on a political tirade while another relative (well, Laurens) looks embarrassed but supports him anyway. She'd propose a game of hide-and-seek, or tag, or both, but there isn't enough room to run around like a proper little kid. She settles for tapping Nicola on the nose.

"Tag," Elisa says. "You're it."

"Darn," Nicola replies. "So, hey, Elisa, did you ever tell the gang about your first day in A-Ham's Writers' Workshop class?"

Cam starts giggling. "You gotta tell 'em, Lis." She turns to the rest of the gaggle of high schoolers. "This is a great story."

"Okay, so," Elisa says, straightening her back and prepping her hands for big gestures. "I walk into class on Monday afternoon with no clue who Mr. Hamilton is. For some reason, I'm expecting him to be an old man. I guess 'Hamilton' just sounds like an old rich guy name, y'know? Like the kind of dusty old white guy who wears a powdered wig."

"Wrong era, Lis," Javier says with a laugh.

"Hey, which one of us is telling the story?" She pauses. "So anyway, I walk in and I see this young dude sitting behind the desk. Now, of course, you know how Liberty is. I have no clue whether he's a teacher or a student. But since I've got this image of powdered-wig white dude in my head, I go with student. So, since I always look out for the well-being of my fellow teenagers-"

Nicola snorts.

"-I went up to him and I was like, 'Hey, I'm pretty sure you can't sit there, man. Try literally any other desk in this room.' But like, less rude than that. So you would expect him to be like, 'Uh, no, I'm the teacher,' but no-o. He just goes, 'Yeah, good point' and sits down in the front row."

The gang laughs. Elisa continues, "So I'm standing off to the side waiting to see who else I know in this class, cuz I wanna get seats near people who aren't gonna be total assholes to sit by all year. Eventually a bunch of us are standing up and A-Ham's the only one sitting down. We're all kinda looking at each other, like, where the hell is our English teacher? And then the second bell rings and A-Ham hops up from his seat like a fucking jackrabbit or something, and he-"

She has to pause due to laughter. Cam, too, is giggling so hard she can't breathe.

"This better be funny or I will be  _so_ disappointed," Vic says. This gets Cam under control, but Elisa only laughs harder. She waves a hand, trying to signal Cam to pick up the rest of the story.

"So A-Ham hops up from his seat and starts writing on the board, and at this point no one's really sure who he is or what he's doing. But he just turns around and he says, 'Hey, guys, I'm Alexander Hamilton.' Which is still ambiguous, but we all read what he wrote on the board and it's something about there being no seating chart. And we all start to sit down, but apparently Elisa's still processing the fact that he's our teacher. And then someone was like, 'So you're the new English teacher, then.' And he nodded, and Elisa goes... Elisa goes-"

Cam starts giggling. Elisa has gotten herself under control, though, and finishes out the story.

"Maybe ten seconds after that, no one saying anything, and I just yelled... in dead silence, mind you, I just go, 'What the _fuck_ , man?'"

It's not the kind of laugh that gets you all at once. Elisa dissolves again, fueled by Cam's unceasing laughter, and slowly, the rest of her friends follow. First Javier with his warm chuckle, then Eloise with her braying laugh. As the laughter spreads - now Yolanda, with the same laugh as her brother; now Joe and Vic with eerily similar chortles; now Nicola with her tinkling giggle an octave above her normal voice - it gains strength.

They spend a good thirty seconds laughing until their abdomens hurt. As it starts to die off, Yolanda whispers an emphatic "What the  _fuck_ , man?" and sets them all off again. Elisa notices through her watering eyes that A-Ham is watching them with a bemused smile. She's sure he's dying to know what they're laughing about. Elisa clutches at her stomach and calms down enough to signal to A-Ham.

He makes it halfway over before Elisa yells, "What the  _fuck_ , man?"

Recognition dawns on A-Ham's face and he cracks up. Washington shoots her a disapproving look, but she doesn't care. The day is warm. Her hands are sticky. Her hair is up in a ponytail. Her chest and stomach hurt from laughing. Elisa knows she must have been this happy at some point or another, but she can't remember when that was.

"Geez, that wasn't even this funny," Vic says as he grabs at his chest, sucking in air.

"I know," Joe agrees. "Guess we like to make a big deal out of not much at all."

He winks at Eloise, who gets the message right away. "Uh-huh," she agrees. "Sure seem's like we're making... three, two, one..."

They shout together. "Much ado about nothing!"

"God, that joke is so terrible," Javier moans.

"More like terrific," Elisa says.

"Tyrannical," Nicola counters.

"Terrifying," says Cam.

"Tacky," Vic adds.

Yolanda smiles. "True," she says.

The friends look at each other for a moment. "Geez," Cam says. "We are unusual. To put it kindly."

"Yeah, can you imagine how weird this must look to someone who isn't in our friend group?" Elisa asks. "I mean, it's weird as hell to me and I've known you people for a year, minimum. Gotta wonder what people would say."

"I think I know," Javier offers. "What outsiders would say about us."

"Yeah?"

Javier nods solemnly. "What the  _fuck_ , man?" he asks.

They collapse into giggles again.

 

"And you wouldn't  _believe_ how many books don't pass the Bechdel Test," Angelica says.

Alexander rolls his eyes. "No kidding. Books! I expect better from literature. Like what?"

"Hey, Angelica," Peggy says, carrying a plate loaded up with a mountain of potato salad. "Did you realize there was going to be meat?"

"It's a barbecue, Pegs. Generally that means meat."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, it's not as though I've never been to a legitimate barbecue before. I would have brought my own veggie burgers or something. This potato salad kicks some serious ass, though. What're you guys talking about, then?"

"Too many books suck at passing the Bechdel Test," Angelica offers.

"Ugh, I  _know_ , right? Fun fact -  _Romeo and Juliet_ was the first thing I ever tried the Bechdel Test on. It fails." Peggy takes a gigantic bite of her potato salad to punctuate this statement, narrowly avoiding spilling some on her sunny sundress.

"Did you guys come prepared with, like, a list?" Alex asks.

"Yeah, one list between the three of us. Except it's all up here," Angelica says with a smile, tapping the side of her head. Then she turns to the yard at large and calls for her sister, shouting, "Hey, Eliza!"

Across the yard, Eliza turns her head. She squints at Angelica's face before yelling back, "It's not a book, but Frozen passes!"

"See?" Angelica says, smirking at Alexander.

Alex throws up his hands. "That's creepy as fuck, you know."

"Mm-hm," Angelica agrees. "It's extra-creepy when you consider that none of us are biologically related to each other, so you can't use that as an excuse." She unfocuses from Alexander's face, watching something over his shoulder. "I think your boyfriend wants you," she says.

Alex grins. "Doesn't he always?"

"Ew, gross," Peggy says, shoving him in John's direction with her shoulder, careful not to disturb her shrinking mountain of potato salad. "That was one hundred percent uncalled-for."

Alexander laughs as he makes his way over to John. "What's up?" he asks.

"I found this cool butterfly," John says, indicating a minuscule blue creature perched on a blade of grass. It's so small, so delicate, that its presence doesn't bend the grass, and the slow flap of its wings is almost undetectable. Alexander crouches down to get a closer look, but he moves too fast and startles the animal into fluttering away, tiny flashes of blue against the dustier blue-grey of the sky.

"Shit, sorry," Alex says. "Think I scared it."

"Nah, it's alright. I just wanted you to see it."

They stand side-by side, watching the butterfly flap until it's a blue pinprick and then gone. Alexander feels John's hand on his waist. He's got his own arm around John's shoulders. They lean their heads together. 

"I remember when I was terrified to bump into you or anything," Alex says. "Thought if I touched you it'd break the magic spell and there'd be no chance you'd want me."

John snorts. "We seem to have disproven that."

Alexander pokes him in the side, watching him wriggle away from the tickling touch. "That we have," he says. "But still, it was a scary time in my life. That ever happen to you? You make friends with someone and you're so damn in love with them that you just gotta  _do_ something about it, but at the same time, you wanna stick your friendship under a glass case? Because you know you can't just go making moves willy-nilly or everything will go to shit? Because it's painful."

"Alexander. Take a second to think about who you just said that to."

He blinks, realizing, and laughs at his mistake. "Shit, right. You felt like that, though? Glass case and all?"

"I tried the patented Hercules Mulligan technique of 'my friends say you like me.' I think that pretty much says it all, don't you?" As if to punctuate John's point, across the yard, Hercules whoops with laughter at something Lafayette said.

Alexander grins. "You've got a point. Boy, our friends weren't even a little bit helpful, were they?"

"Nope. The kids were, though."

Looking over John's shoulder at the group of teenagers, now tapping each other's noses for some reason, Alex grins. "The kids know better than they think they do. I'm gonna miss having them all in class and debate and what have you. They're a good group."

"Couldn't imagine a better group of people to teach my first year," John says. "Actually, couldn't imagine a better first year of teaching at all."

"You punched Charles Lee," Alex says, ticking items off on his fingers. "Washington kicked us both out of school for a few days. Your dad uninvited you to Thanksgiving. I went to the hospital for working, like, a normal amount. There was that one time in April where Burr caught the teachers' lounge on fire and I got blamed for it. We both had to reprint our final exams five minutes before giving them."

"And yet," John retorts, "there is no possible way it could have been better."

Alex sighs, the kind of contented sigh that he isn't used to making. "As usual, John Laurens, you're correct."

"My wisdom is boundless," John says with a shrug. "Oh, hey, I just remembered something. You packed up your whole classroom and took it home for the summer, right?" Alex nods. "Well, I did too, you saw me carrying that gigantic box out of there. Thing is, I think I may have forgotten a few things. Five things, to be precise."

"Oh, no you don't," Alex warns, holding up a hand. "You don't even need neon markers during the summertime! There's no reason to steal mine!"

"But I gotta be the cool teacher," John protests.

"Well so do I!"

Lafayette, walking by on his way to what must be a fourth or fifth hot dog, grins at the both of them. "You two are ridiculous," he says. "Do you not see that you are both the cool teacher? Well, almost. I am the cool teacher. But you are tied for a close second."

"Yeah," Alex says. "Cuz we have neon markers."

 

John's talking to Just Martha (he still thinks of Mrs. Washington this way in his head) about something to do with baseball - Just Martha is a die-hard sports fan, and John's struggling to keep afloat in the conversation - when he feels his first raindrop.

"Hey," he says, holding out a hand to better detect the atmosphere around him. "I think it's raining."

Martha squints up at the sky, then shivers as a drop of water hits her squarely in the middle of the forehead. "Sure is," she confirms. She turns away from John to shout at her husband. "George! Let's move the party inside before it starts pouring."

As though her words triggered something above them, the sprinkling becomes a deluge within seconds. Kids and adults make a dash for the house, grabbing plates of watermelon or bowls of chips or stacks of burgers in an attempt to save them. John watches Laf and Herc sprint by him, protecting a pyramid of Vic's homemade brownies between them. John's glad they're doing so - everyone's been gushing over the brownies all afternoon, but he hasn't yet gotten the chance to try one.

People run inside, but John pauses. He's never minded the rain, and besides, he wants to wait for Alexander. It feels like so rare an occasion, waiting for six-steps-ahead Alexander to find him and catch up with him. John's okay with that. Being with Alex is a good kind of catching up, the kind that motivates you to run faster.

"Hey," says a voice behind him, a pair of arms wrapping around him. "You wanna go inside?"

John spins around in the embrace. "Nah, not yet," he says. "I like the rain."

Alexander nods. "Same here. Well, no, that's a lie. But I'm learning to like it. The rain is different here, too. Not as... grr." He makes flailing motions with his hands to indicate a hurricane, and John laughs.

"Right, yeah. Plus, on a day like today, it's sort of peaceful."

"So," Alex says after a few beats, "would you be opposed to me filling out the romantic movie trope of kissing you in the rain? Because, Laurens, I like you a lot, and I'd probably kiss you anyway right now, but I feel the need to ask just in case it'd be too cliche."

"I'm open to kissing regardless of climatic circumstances," John offers, a grin spreading outward to the corners of his mouth. He moves toward Alexander but lets him be the one to initiate the kiss, lets him be the one to take him by the t-shirt collar and kiss him like there's no tomorrow.

 _Wait, that's wrong_ , John thinks. Alexander is as intense as ever, laser-beam focus cutting into John via lip-to-lip, electric-shock personality crackling on his tongue. But he isn't moving like he's going to run out of time any second.  _He's kissing me like there is a tomorrow,_ John realizes.

"So I love you a whole fucking lot," John says when they break apart.

"Seconded," Alex says. "You know what would be super cute right now? If I asked you to marry me. Like, kiss-in-the-rain and everything. Damn, that'd be adorable."

"You asking?" John says, not sure how he'd feel if Alex is serious.

Alexander shakes his head. "Nah, not yet. We've known each other for under a year, and I think that'd be sort of presumptuous of me. For all I know, you could secretly have a thing for Asshole Thomas Jefferson."

John fakes a gagging noise.

"But... someday, okay?" Alex asks. "Not today. But we'll get there. And we'll have the best goddamn wedding under the sun. Or rain, in this case."

"What happened to rush-into-everything Alexander Hamilton?" John teases. "I swear, it's like I don't even know you anymore."

"I'm still here, no worries. I'm just itching to punch somebody or not sleep enough or something. Curse you and your wily boyfriend ways for making me behave in a healthy manner that's not detrimental to my health." He shakes his fist at John.

John kisses him again. "My pleasure," he murmurs.

"Hey, speaking of rushing into things, what're your thoughts on rushing into the house? I'm getting soaked." Alex gestures to his t-shirt, the one with the angry grapes on it, hanging off of him and saturated with water.

"Shit, no kidding, Alexander. You'll die of a cold or something."

"Nah, you'll take care of me," Alex says. "Besides, I wouldn't die. If I did, who would you steal markers from?"

"I think the real question," John says as he takes Alexander's hand, "is if you're coming back as a zombie if you die. Cuz then I'd have to hide from you in a Super Walmart."

"Or a Sam's Club," Alex offers.

"Not a Staples, though."

They don't rush inside the house, but instead take their time. The rain pours down around them and they smile at each other, content in the knowledge that when they step through that door, absolutely nothing will change. They will still be chilled and talking about zombie apocalypses and soaking wet and in love.

John squeezes Alexander's hand. Alexander squeezes back.

They step inside the house. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so our story comes to a close - mostly. I'll probably end up writing oneshots in this universe if I'm feeling inspired. In addition, if anybody else wants to borrow the In Pursuit Of Happiness universe for their own writings, feel free! After all, this isn't really the end for them, and it's anybody's guess as to what will happen next.
> 
> Comments are, as you know, my favorite part, so don't be afraid to talk to me!


End file.
